


Shaking in My Skull

by xladysaya



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: First Meeting, M/M, afterlife stuff, lol ask away, supernatural elements sorta?, weird au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 98,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xladysaya/pseuds/xladysaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck on the plane between life and death, Saruhiko makes the decision to risk everything, forced to find faith in himself and the headstrong Yata Misaki as they both face unimaginable demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is very experimental but it was an AU that kept tugging at the back of my head, so I finished it lol, I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Big thanks to EmeraldWaves for always supporting and editing my weird shit like this lol, ilu <3

_The hour of departure has arrived and we go our ways; I to die, and you to live. Which is better? Only God knows. –The Apology_

\--

It was like a jolt. A split second experience of inordinate pain, something he felt throughout his entire being, heavy while prickling each nerve.

He felt his hands stiffen, his feet stumble as he fell back, crushed by some unknown force. The nausea came after that, and so did the disassociation. Did he still have legs? He would have to, from the way his femurs snapped. He’d heard it, there was no way he couldn’t. The tremors traveled up, even his eyelids felt the tingles, the harsh stings of force.

His skull shook, and one may have wondered if his brain had survived the hits it took against that fractured mass. The vibrations traveled further still, down his spine, cracking his ribs like twigs in a burning fire.

All this inconceivable, unimaginable pain was felt in just a split second—there for but a moment before it was all gone. Nonexistent, as if it had never happened.

Then, there was the silence.

Not the kind that can be explained or related to, for it is incomparable, indescribable. It was perhaps what he imagined open space to sound like, no echoes, or ringing. The complete and total absence of sound and everything related to noise. Just…still and steady.

His hand twitched, and he began to move his fingers, one at a time. They trembled with resistance, and it was the only time he’d ever had to focus to move the tips, his breathing uneven as he did so. His eyes were still closed, and he figured it would be work to open them as well. Better to focus on his hands and limbs, just in case the sights to greet him required action.

The thumb and the index fingers were easiest, and they came first before the rest followed, each new movement slow, similar to being thawed from ice. Right, and those were only his hands. While he experimented with moving his wrist, he drifted part of his attention to his legs. He was getting better at multitasking as the seconds ticked away, and he gingerly started to bend his left leg as he clenched his fists experimentally. His arms were much more compliant after he did so, despite feeling numb, and by the time he was getting used to moving them, he was also bending both legs almost normally, like it was any other day and he was getting ready to get out of bed. Well, if he actually decided to get out of bed.

No, his body had been stretched and limbered, and he was confident he could stand now, but he still refused to pry open his eyes. The tedious things that probably awaited him were enough reason to keep himself out of reality for a little bit longer. He’d suspected he’d been injured in some way, and he would wake up in an overly sterilized hospital with people bustling about, the obnoxious dings of machines finally registering in his head as soon as he saw them. Not to mention the stiff sheets and the choking scent of disinfectant wafting through his nostrils, a disgusting cocktail of chemicals and cleaners trying to cover up the smell of blood and infection. No, the inclination to keep his eyes shut was far too strong.

He had to wonder though, if he was really in the hospital, and was breathing, why didn’t he smell anything? Why was the silence, the only thing he was able to recognize?

No phones ringing, no conversations, no overwhelming scents of lysol or cheap hospital food. There was nothing except his own thoughts, and his stomach felt suddenly hollow, as if for once not smelling such things was not good at all.

“Fushimi Saruhiko.”

A smooth voice shattered the stillness, the atmosphere coming undone. Saruhiko’s eyes split open reflexively, and he rose from the ground, sitting up like lightning and being assaulted by…well, for once he didn’t know. The visuals were unlike anything he’d ever witnessed.

A white floor, white walls. The only thing that separated the two was a sliver of gray lining. He didn’t know if it was a room or some never ending hallway.

He expected his senses to be shot, given he at least vaguely remembered being shaken by _something_ , but he felt fine. In fact, he felt weightless, feather light but strong. No longer did his stomach growl at him for not feeding it, no longer did he feel tired from lack of sleep nor did his bones ache from his tedious work hours.

Out of curiosity, he raised a hand to his face, squinting at how it appeared blurred.

Come to think of it, everything was blurry. It wasn’t as if there was much to see, but he still felt vulnerable. Being blind in an unknown environment was the last thing he wanted, and he promptly scrambled around himself, searching for his glasses in the hope they’d simply fallen off his face and were lying nearby.

After several moments of frantic jostling around the floor, he looked to his own person, fumbling in his pockets until he felt the top of his head, entertaining the idea that maybe he was just too distraught to realize they were pushed up. His hands brushed against the familiar sides of the frames, but they weren’t on top of his head. He had them on.

He froze, not willing to jump to conclusions just yet, no matter how tempting it was. _Stay calm…_

Calm. If he could remember what it was like to feel that way.

Slowly, he grasped them, his hands now locked up and tense as they struggled to get a good grip on the glasses without smudging the lenses. Pulling them off, he noticed instantly that yes, they were indeed _his_ glasses; generic and plain black frames as usual.

He also noticed, he could see them and his hands _perfectly._ The lines and edges were crisp, the details of his smooth skin actually noticeable, down to every last vein and bump. He dropped the frames out of pure shock, and they hit the bleach white ground with no clatter. Saruhiko gasped from the lack of noise, looking up fast enough to give him whiplash when the voice sounded again.

“Oh, you won’t be needing those anymore,” the calm voice announced, causing Saruhiko to turn around abruptly. “Although, if it’s a stylistic choice, we can always provide you with some non-prescription glasses.”

The man stood tall in a doorway, the only way out of the vast white room. He wore a serene smile, one that bordered on unnerving. He was dressed quite…strangely, as if he stepped out of some long lost time period Saruhiko might’ve recalled from school. The man was dressed in almost all white, an unbuttoned and plush frock coat accentuating his height, stopping just below the knees. Beneath was a formal dress shirt and waist coat, both of which were low cut and therefore joined by a blue paisley cravat, the only pop of color in the white void. The patterns were outlined in black, and shouldn’t have complimented his striking, violet eyes, but it weirdly did, the whole outfit appearing as if it were tailored and made specifically for the gentleman. The outfit was completed at the feet with black congress gaiters, the only thing that would’ve been out of place if not for the black lines on the cravat. Lastly, he held a simple blue cane with a black handle, and Saruhiko couldn’t help but squint despite his now flawless vision.

Okay, definitely not normal. He wanted answers, needed them in fact.

“You’re fifty one seconds late, how odd,” the man spoke, pulling out a tabbed folder and flitting through it efficiently. “I suppose it goes with your uniqueness. My name is Munakata Reisi, and if you’d please follow me—”

“Why should I?” Saruhiko’s voice seemed foreign, as though he was hearing it again after years of silence. He cleared his throat, unsettled, continuing to eye the well-dressed man with suspicion.

“Would you prefer to stay in this room alone?”

He glared at the serene face, but looked around the room hesitantly. He’d never thought he’d say it but, it was too quiet. Too devoid of any smell or…visual stimuli.

Then again, who knew where this guy would be taking him? Saruhiko had barely woken up from…some sort of slumber, and then the guy was just _there,_ acting as though everything was fine.

Nothing _felt_ fine. Saruhiko didn’t have many enemies, no one who’d trap him in a room at least, but something told him this wasn’t any normal situation, and his stomach dropped as the theories began spinning themselves in his head.

No memories, only flashes of images and sound, and the bleak option of staying in a dull room or following a total stranger. Neither was appealing, but…

If he wanted explanations, he had no choice but to slowly get up from the floor and approach the oddly dressed man. Or, Munakata Reisi he’d said…

Saruhiko’s legs felt shaky as he stood up, and little pin pricks of sensation ran up them as he stumbled to his feet, nearly falling. The first step was a challenge, and it was like he was a child learning to take his first steps, one foot at a time and with rudimentary balance. Humiliating.

He eventually got the hang of it, or at least, he managed well enough to cross the few feet which separated him from Munakata.

“Excellent, most people take much longer to re-adjust,” Munakata informed him, briskly turning on his heel and gesturing forward with his cane. “This way please.”

The exit of the room led out to a large, white hallway, so blaringly bright Saruhiko felt his now fully functioning eyes squint in pain, and he felt like raising a hand to block out the harshness.

Annoying.

So far, everything had been exactly that, and he’d been awake for what he guessed was a total of ten minutes.

Despite the man’s fancy shoes and cane, he made no noise when he walked, and even someone like Saruhiko was off put by the silence. Even his own work boots, which had a small heel to them, didn’t make as much as a clack against the tiled floor. It wasn’t helping the uncharacteristic anxiety which was newly swirling inside him. It was a good time for thinking though he supposed…

Though, the recap wasn’t helpful. He remembered a lot of noise, a split second of immense pain, and then…nothing. All of a sudden he’d woken up in a world nearly devoid of color and sound, and there was a strange man who looked as if he’d stepped out of a different century directing him around, telling him he was late of all things.

Right. If only he could’ve delayed it more…

The theories in his head were slowly narrowing themselves down until there was but one left.

Everything seemed to add up, and despite himself, he felt heavy, and his stomach moved around oddly again, like his body was more afraid of his realization than his rational mind. It was…unnerving.

 “Am I dead?”

The question he asked held no fear or curiosity, only pure annoyance, similar to someone finding out they had to pay a bill at a restaurant instead of the terror one would expect upon finding out their life had potentially ended.

“Oh, was that not clear? You passed away at approximately…well it doesn’t really matter. Time doesn’t exist here,” Munakata continued, that same overbearing smile stuck on his face when he turned his head back. Saruhiko huffed, thoroughly done with the entire trial. He’d been right, and yet he felt no sense of comfort or accomplishment from it.

Dead.

As in, he was supposed to be gone.

Alright, fine, that he could live with…so to speak. But…

Saruhiko had never felt particularly hopeful, or spiritual for that matter, and had seldom ever given thought to an afterlife. Therefore his next issue was yes, he was dead, but why was he _here._ Where was here?

It set off a whole new barrage of questions itching at the tip of his tongue.

Before he could properly ask however, he realized they were in front of a black door. How had he not seen it beforehand? He chalked it up to being distracted with the news but…he was usually more aware of his surroundings.

Written on the plaque of the door was one word: filing. It was in a curly, lively font, sort of out of place for such a boring title.

Munakata opened the door, stepping to the side to allow Saruhiko to walk in before him.

“I apologize for the stop,” Munakata began. “I have to pick up another young man’s file though. You’re not the only late arrival, and these things need to be attended to personally and efficiently.”

Whatever, it’s not like Saruhiko had anything better to do, or anywhere to go. The man’s need for such politeness had him rolling his eyes as he stepped into the room.

Saruhiko squinted as he took in the small space. The carpet was grey, the walls white, not really a significant palette change from what he’d seen so far, but at least there was some contrast. There were four comfy sitting chairs surrounding a white coffee table, and a few magazines sitting on top of it. He walked up to it quickly, snatching one of the booklets off the table and froze when he saw the dates. 1960. 1965. A few from the 80’s.

All outdated.

He sighed, letting the magazine fall from his hands without much care. The room reminded him of a waiting room at a doctor’s office, except it was lacking the strong scent of hand sanitizer and latex gloves, as well as the sound of mindless chatter and beeping machines. He’d always hated waiting rooms, but now being in this one had him wishing for some of the annoying normalcy.

Munakata walked up to what seemed to be the reception desk, and a smiling, white haired man nodded to him before getting up and walking to some large filing cabinets behind him.

Saruhiko approached the desk too, curiosity getting the better of him, and stepped in front of Munakata without care, peering in and gasping at the sight. The room behind the desk looked infinite, rows and rows of filing cabinets stretched as far as the eye could see, tall and menacing over the small man currently sifting through one.

“Sorry for the wait, here you are,” the cheery man spoke, handing Munakata a clear file. “He’s about five minutes late.”

“Oya? How unacceptable,” Munakata mused, flipping through the file gracefully. “Oh well, these things cannot be helped sometimes. Thank you, Isana-san.”

“Mhm,” the young man said, looking over to Saruhiko. “Welcome, you must be the other tardy.”

“Fushimi—”

“Saruhiko,” the other cut off, smiling even brighter. “Yes I know, I retrieved your file not too long ago. I wish you luck, you’ll be fine.”

_What is that supposed to mean?_

Saruhiko squinted, but he didn’t get the chance to say much else before Munakata was leading him through another door.

Ah what a shock, another white hallway. He was starting to feel sick.

They stepped onto a conveyer belt of sorts, like the ones in airports that carried people from terminal to terminal, and Saruhiko was vaguely beginning to wonder if maybe he really wasn’t dead and he was being severely punked.

For the afterlife, things were surprisingly boring and organized.

He felt as though he was in some cheap movie.

“I hear you excel with technology Fushimi-kun,” Munakata said, voice sticking in the quiet air.

_How’d you hear that?_

“I suppose…”

“Hm, how disappointing such a skill is now lost to the world,” the taller said with the shake of his head.

“That’s what’s being lost here?” Saruhiko deadpanned, furtherly fed up when he only received an affirmative hum in return.

If this was Munakata’s idea of small talk, he didn’t want to be around him much longer…but…

“Are you going to explain things anytime soon?”

Munakata simply flashed a grin his way. “In time, we have to pick up our other arrival first. Besides, it’s not like you have a schedule.”

Saruhiko glared at Munakata’s back, but he chose to wait, hoping he’d get his answers soon. Plus with someone else involved, he wouldn’t be stuck trying to reason with Munakata by himself.

The conveyer belt began to slow until it reached another door, one which was white this time, barely visible against the wall.

Before he knew it, he was stepping off the belt and into another white room, identical to the one he’d woke up in. He wondered how many of them existed, or was the afterlife just an infinite series of turn arounds? For all he knew, this was the same room he’d come from. There was nothing to signal any form of direction or grid.

To his surprise though, there was something different about this room. There was another boy lying in the center of it, flat on his back. Saruhiko didn’t know how to feel, because for one, it was another human being, but it also opened up more questions.

Still, he was intrigued.

Munakata gestured for him to follow as he approached the body, and soon Saruhiko was standing over the new arrival.

“Yata Misaki,” Munakata spoke, pulling out the file. “Age twenty one, born on July 20th, died on the evening of August 14th.”

_Yata Misaki._

“What…did my file say?” Saruhiko found himself asking carefully, watching the other boy and the rise and fall of his chest. Was he really breathing?

“Much of the same. It also includes your family tree, close friends, hobbies, cause of death, all basic facts,” Munakata said, as if it was all routine. In fact it probably was for him.

_So that’s how you knew my tech skills…_

Saruhiko honed in on a different aspect of the file though, curiosity getting the better of him for a moment.

Cause of death…

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but his skin burned, obviously fighting a war with his intense need to investigate everything about his situation.

Still, maybe even knowing how he died was a bit much.

Saruhiko shook his head, he’d deal with it later. For now he turned back to…Misaki.

_Huh, what a name._

The redhead was dressed casually, a loose grey sweatshirt and knee length shorts on. The sweatshirt was a bit long, and it fell to the other’s mid-thigh, bunching up a bit at the bottom. There was a beanie lying next to him, and it must’ve fallen off from all the jostling. Saruhiko swallowed, very irritated with himself all of a sudden.

Misaki was…handsome, and Saruhiko nearly clicked his tongue at the admission. His messy chestnut hair curled around his neck and face, framing it nicely, a few loose strands sticking to his forehead. He seemed short in stature, but he looked strong and healthy. Misaki’s skin looked smooth, unnaturally so, and Saruhiko himself felt the need to look in a mirror. Were the bags under his eyes gone? Was there any more visible strain in his forehead? Any wrinkles from the stress of overworking?

He focused back on the redhead. Despite his lack of blemishes, Misaki’s face was still twitching, like he was having a bad dream, and his entire body would jolt a bit on occasion. His face was expressive, a flood of emotions, including discomfort and panic, continuously washing over his face.

Saruhiko wanted to wake him up…

“Every once in a while,” Munakata’s voice broke his thoughts. “People take longer to wake up here than they should. It’s not a serious matter, but we do like to be careful.”

“Who is we?” Saruhiko asked, not taking his eyes off the boy moving around on the floor.

“You will find out soon.”

Helpful.

He heard a choked sound come from below, and his eyes widened a bit, looking briefly to Munakata before fixing back on Misaki. The other was coughing, loud, similar to someone who’d swallowed too much water, and soon the coughing was so intense Misaki was propping himself up on one elbow, heaving, almost hacking up his lungs.

It was violent, too noisy for Saruhiko, who’d been enduring nothing but silence, and for the first time in his existence he felt a strange conviction to help someone. He reached forward, but the moment he did, everything stopped.

Misaki was frozen, still and unbreathing for what felt like ages, and then he promptly fell onto his back again, face suddenly peaceful and relaxed.

His eyelashes fluttered a bit, and a low groan escaped the redhead’s lips. He seemed alright at once, and Saruhiko wondered how he himself had looked before he had awoken there.

“What…” Saruhiko got on his knee, looking Misaki over curiously when the redhead’s eyes burst open fully, and it was surprising enough for Saruhiko to scoot away instantly.

Those eyes…they practically shone. They were a stunning amber, and as soon as they opened it was like life got breathed into the dead atmosphere around them. It was overwhelming, Saruhiko had never seen anything similar to them.

Misaki shot up immediately, looking between Saruhiko and Munakata with panic. He blinked a lot, probably taken aback by the brightness of the room, or the blandness.

Saruhiko saw as the other’s eyes adjusted and drifted to Munakata, looking completely weirded out and even more confused. There seemed to be a war going on in his head, like there was a million questions already in there but it was a toss up to which he should ask first. After a while though, Misaki must’ve decided focusing on Saruhiko was safest, and those amber pools softened as they landed on him, still perplexed and…so strangely revealing.

“W-where am I?” Misaki croaked, glancing around into the void of bleached nothingness.

There was the thing…

“I…don’t know,” Saruhiko answered. “But…”

Misaki seemed frightened, but he still put on a brave face, as though he was ready to fight if he needed to. It would’ve been amusing if Saruhiko wasn’t so oddly fixed on every expression which passed on Misaki’s face.

“But?” The redhead asked, almost begging for him to cough it up.

Saruhiko couldn’t do much but comply.

“You’re dead.”

\--

They were back on the conveyer belt now, heading who knew where, no sound once again, in fact not even Misaki’s foot tapping harshly on the belt didn’t so much as echo.

The redhead was shaking still, and had been since Munakata had given him the whole rundown.

_You’re dead. You died here, on this day, at this time._

How morbid it must seem to the obviously lively redhead, but Saruhiko himself didn’t see the issue. What was the use sheltering someone from the truth? Even so, Saruhiko couldn’t figure out why watching Misaki have an internal breakdown was unpleasant.

He had his questions though, and he couldn’t afford to wait for Misaki’s brain to catch up.

“Are you going to tell us where you’re taking us?” he drawled, glaring at Munakata’s back. The taller man seemed unmoved by the tone however, and simply turned around to face them.

“You’re going to be sorted. We’re a bit behind schedule, I do apologize,” Munakata said with the same overly polite smile.

“Sorted?”

“Yes,” Munakata answered. “Usually, people are sorted automatically, and wake up in their intended place. You both however—”

“We were late. Yeah, got it,” Saruhiko said with an eye roll.

“Precisely.”

Vague as ever.

Saruhiko may have been dead, but he hated being manipulated and moved around against his will, and he sighed loudly, growing tired of the whole scenario.

“Where exactly are we being sort—”

“It’s bullshit.”

Misaki’s frustrated voice cut Saruhiko off, and soon his blue eyes drifted to the redhead, who was staring at the ground, face somewhat hidden. “This is all bullshit. A dream, I wanna wake up.”

Saruhiko squinted, upset with the unnecessary interruption. Misaki was in denial, that much was clear, but Saruhiko couldn’t bring himself to feel sympathetic or even care, though he was in the same situation as the redhead.

There was no use holding onto lost things.

“Well you can’t, _Misaki_ ,” Saruhiko said, and he didn’t so much as flinch when Misaki’s head snapped up to glare at him. “We’re dead, end of story. Don’t be stupid and get over it.”

Saruhiko ignored the voice in his head which questioned who he was actually addressing, himself or Misaki.

The redhead blanched, and for a minute Saruhiko felt the need to reach forward to balance him. He didn’t have time to be stunned by the instinct though.

“Get over it? How do you get over being fucking dead in the ground asshole?!”

“Technically, we don’t know how we died…”

“Fuck you! You know what I mean!” Misaki was practically yelling compared to the silence around him, and Saruhiko saw Munakata raise a hand to his ear in a feeble attempt at blocking the redhead out. “Do you even care? And don’t address me like you know me!”

“What would it matter even if I did care? I’m dead, I can’t do anything,” Saruhiko snarled, composure beginning to crumble. Not like it mattered, he didn’t have anything to lose. “And neither can _you.”_

He seemed to stun Misaki, if only for a moment, and then the redhead was back in the ring, ready to go. “Maybe you don’t care, but I do! I was…I was supposed to do big things soon! I…”

Misaki’s rage faded into loss, and he glanced back to the ground after ripping off his beanie in agitation. Saruhiko didn’t know what to make of it, other than to acknowledge the other’s extreme denial.

Whatever. Everyone had plans, _everyone_ , even him…

“And you think that makes you special?” Saruhiko said, more a statement than a question, still staring at the now silent boy.

_Didn’t think so._

The eerie quiet was back, a bit tense feeling, but Saruhiko would bear it. Conversation was pretty useless now. He turned back to Munakata, who wore a neutral expression as they continued to move along the corridor. The whole process seemed tedious for what Munakata referred to as ‘efficient,’ and all Saruhiko wanted was for it to end, even if this ‘sorting’ wasn’t beneficial to him. Anything was better than his troubled thoughts and the trembling redhead beside him.

“I was going to be a great artist you know…was gonna give all the other snobs a run for their money…”

“What?” Misaki’s interjection had caught Saruhiko off guard, his dazed voice difficult to understand.

“Art,” Misaki repeated, clearer this time. “I had my first gallery showing next week, and now…”

_Oh._

Saruhiko couldn’t say he was particularly sympathetic, struggling artists were a dime a dozen in the city, he didn’t even know if Misaki was talented. A gallery opening though, it must’ve been a big deal for a small timer. Saruhiko didn’t understand it, but reluctantly, he related…

He’d be missing quite a few things as well, a wedding, some stupid dinner which didn’t even matter…

As much as he told himself he didn’t care, the sick feeling in his stomach increased against his will. Unfair.

It didn’t mean he’d offer any apologies though.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything too cutting either, mood soured even more from his own internal realizations and Misaki’s mournful admissions. Maybe this was what it meant to feel bad…even if only slightly.

The silence was shattered regardless of his choice to refrain though, Misaki slamming a fist down on the railing beside them.

“H-hey you,” Misaki said, voice stiff but loud as he looked up at Munakata, eyes narrowed into slits. “There’s gotta be a way to fix this.”

Saruhiko would’ve clicked his tongue at the blind hope, but something stopped him, or more like, someone stopped him.

It was Munakata, seemingly serene, obviously clever Munakata. Saruhiko thought even in the short time in which he’d been around the other he’d gotten used to all the weirdly knowing expressions.

But the one he was making then…

It had every alarm going off.

Munakata was smiling. It was a smile most people would’ve labeled as ‘pleasant’ or ‘normal’ with a quick glance. But it wasn’t. It radiated pure deviousness, not necessarily malicious, but more like Misaki had finally gave him the winning answer. As if Munakata had been waiting, itching, for Misaki to bring it up.

“Yata-kun, I would like to remind you it was your designated time of passing—”

“I don’t care! I want to know if there’s a way to take it back!”

The smile grew, solidified on Munakata’s slim, elegant face. Misaki looked similar to someone geared up for a fight. The combination wasn’t good.

_What?_

“Hm, well there may be one solution,” Munakata said, and at the same time, the conveyer stopped automatically. The atmosphere seemed to shift to one of anticipation too, and Saruhiko had a bad feeling crawling up his spine.

Misaki pushed forward though, face expectant, begging even, for the man to continue.

“It’s not guaranteed,” Munakata continued. “But, it is believed if you can survive a series of tasks…trials I should say, a second chance will be rewarded to you, free of charge.”

A second chance?

A second chance at li—

“So I’ll be alive again? If I can do these whatever, the challenges? Yeah?”

_You sound entirely too desperate._

“In theory. Though as I said, it’s not confirmed, and I must inform you, losing comes at a rather high cost.”

Therefore it was a waste of time in Saruhiko’s head. Besides, who knew how tough these trials would be, there were too many things unaccounted for, too many variables missing. The cons immediately outweighed the pros.

Misaki didn’t seem to mind, and he went on before Saruhiko could even ask about what happened when people lost.

“Awesome! I’ll do it, whatever it takes,” Misaki said, voice relieved and excited, as if he were ready to start right away, ready to leap into danger at the sound of a whistle.

“Idiot,” Saruhiko tried to interrupt. “You don’t—”

“Excellent,” Munakata spoke up, and Saruhiko could feel his own anxiety being drowned out. This really had nothing to do with him, yet he felt like it did. That or, it was about to. “I’m afraid there are rules however.”

The beginnings of Misaki’s smile dropped a noticeable amount from the statement. “Rules?”

“Yes, everything must have order, including dire situations such as this,” Munakata informed, as if it were totally apparent. “We’ll discuss it more in the meeting room. I’m afraid we’ll have to bring you along Fushimi-kun.”

_Of course._

Munakata turned forward, confident and sure of himself. As he did so, the belt began to move once again, following the man’s will.

Saruhiko and Misaki both exchanged a confused glance, stumbling a bit as the conveyer belt suddenly took a sharp turn. Saruhiko could’ve sworn the path had been straight just moments ago…

Misaki voiced Saruhiko’s same confusion aloud, and for once Saruhiko didn’t feel the need to scoff.

“Wait, meeting room?”

\--

They stopped in front of a golden, baroque door. It was gaudy against the white backgrounds, and was almost harsh in appearance, too many details and designs etched into it, along with jewels which seemed as if they held the universe inside them, sparkling and reflecting impossible colors.

Munakata stepped in front of them, opening the door with a loud creak, just enough so he could fit through it. “Wait here a moment, I need to attend to something. I’ll call you in shortly.”

Again Saruhiko felt himself wondering if he was being played.

Munakata didn’t wait for a reply, the door shutting swiftly seconds after he bid them adieu.

Alone now, the silence flooded back, uncomfortable as ever. Who knew he’d ever come to resent the absence of noise?

Saruhiko felt Misaki’s gaze on him, and was completely aware of the other’s fidgeting.

“You don’t have to be so awkward,” Saruhiko mumbled, still facing the door.

“H-huh? I’m not!” Misaki protested. “It’s just, this whole thing is super weird!”

_That’s a bit of an understatement._

“Hey, what’s your name? You know mine,” Misaki said with distaste. “I don’t know yours though.”

“Is it important?”

Misaki seemed taken aback by the response, but didn’t go off like Saruhiko expected him to. “W-well it is to me! We’re here together after all…I don’t know. You’re an ass, but you seem alright. You must be scared too, you just aren’t sho—”

“I’m _not_ scared,” Saruhiko cut in. “I’m annoyed with this place is all.”

“Mhm.”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, turning finally to glare half-heartedly at Misaki. “Shut it. You don’t know me.”

“I know you’re dead.”

“So are you.”

Misaki grunted, expression upset and getting more fed up by the second. _Did it really slip your fragile mind?_

It was tense again, and Misaki crossed his arms, half in anger, half in what Saruhiko guessed was uncertainty. The redhead’s face betrayed nothing as usual, displaying fear and anxiety all at once.

“And anyways, you said I seemed alright but,” Saruhiko continued, “the last exchange we had wasn’t exactly appealing.”

_More like stupid._

“I don’t fucking know! It’s a feeling or whatever,” the redhead mumbled, and he didn’t give up any more information than that.

_A feeling huh?_

He didn’t understand it any better. The explanation was mediocre, childish at best, but his face felt hot, and he heard himself sighing in surrender in no time.

“Fushimi Saruhiko.”

“Huh?” Misaki perked up instantly, and Saruhiko felt lighter because of it, much to his exasperation.

“Fushimi Saruhiko. Age twenty, born on November 7th, died on the evening of August 14th,” he replied blandly, as Munakata had done. “At least, according to my file.”

“Oh!” Misaki exclaimed, totally missing Saruhiko’s dreary tone. “You’re younger than me!”

_Really?_

He clicked his tongue. “Not by much.”

“Ha! It’s enough for me,” Misaki said with a smile, but it fell quickly. “I guess you…won’t get to celebrate though huh?”

“Idiot, why are you sad?” Honestly, Saruhiko thought, it wasn’t as though he celebrated his own birthday to some great extent anyways. It shouldn’t matter to a total stranger at all.

“I…don’t know?” The half assed reply was joined by a laugh from the redhead, and Saruhiko actually couldn’t find it stupid for whatever reason.

The air was more comfortable now, strangely, like Misaki had breathed life into its staleness once more. He was good at that…

Misaki apparently felt the need to dive back into dangerous territory though, grin on his face and all.

“So…aren’t you excited?”

Saruhiko scoffed. “Are you a kid? What’s there to be excited about in this place?”

“Well,” Misaki continued, unfazed. “We could get our lives back!”

_You really believe that?_

“First off, you’re the one doing this, not me. You realize these challenges could be virtually impossible, right?”

Something told Saruhiko though that no, Misaki really didn’t realize thar. The redhead was still smiling, moving in place, as if there was so much energy bottled up he was near ready to burst. “Worth a shot!”

Saruhiko stared at him incredulously. Such childish bravery had to be dangerous. In fact, Saruhiko wondered how Misaki had managed to live as long as he had with such an attitude.

“How do you know it’ll be what you’re expecting at the end?”

The question, finally, had Misaki’s face drooping slightly, and the redhead looked away in deep thought.

Saruhiko watched as his eyebrows knit together, and his face scrunched up, as if the taller had asked Misaki the million dollar question.

_Weirdo._

Yet somehow, when his stomach flipped again, it didn’t feel like disgust.

Then Misaki’s face was lighting up again, and the shorter shrugged simply.

“I don’t, but, wouldn’t you give anything just to see?”

The voice was way too lively for a dead man. Before Saruhiko could communicate this however, the doors in front of them opened, and they were called to step into the meeting room.

Well, calling it a meeting room was a disservice.

It was similar to a throne room—but more simplistic. There were a few steps that led up to a platform, and on the platform were two simple armchairs, one red, and the other blue.

It was less the weird setup, including the fact the chairs were placed around an impossibly clear looking pool of sorts, and more the fact there was a man sitting in the red one. The seats about matched their owners as well, with Munakata’s looking refined and old fashioned, dark wood and plush seat straight out of a high class home, placed wrongly beside a ratty and torn up armchair.

He felt Misaki stiffen beside him as well at the sight of the other man, and they both stopped at the foot of the stairs while Munakata continued up without batting an eye.

“Suoh, feet off the chair, we have guests,” Munakata scolded. The other man simply threw him a tired look, refusing to budge.

“Hm, ‘m not tracking mud or anything Munakata,” the man spoke, voice low and raspy, some undertones of annoyance clear in his words.

He was dressed far different from Munakata too, as if he’d been pulled out of a more modern era. His jeans were ratty, and the old white t-shirt he wore clung to him, not hiding anything when it came to the man’s muscled body. He was intimidating, to say the least, fiery red hair sticking up like it hadn’t been combed in a while. He was strewn about the chair, trying to lie down in it as best he could, long legs crammed awkwardly onto the plush seat. Still, even with the lazy posture, he radiated power, and his impassive and unfocused stare was nothing close to Munakata’s soul-searching one.

Saruhiko didn’t know which was worse.

“Fushimi-kun, Yata-kun,” Munakata began, seating himself primly. “This is my associate, Suoh Mikoto. He and I oversee…certain levels of the afterlife, so to speak.”

“Levels?” Misaki asked, turning his attention to Saruhiko, as if looking for confirmation it was the right thing to be confused about.

For some reason, Saruhiko felt weird with those eyes on him, but he shook it off. It wasn’t important. He doubted they’d be together much longer.

The thought didn’t bring as much relief as he would’ve hoped.

“What level is this?” Saruhiko asked, trying his best to keep his gaze on Munakata despite Mikoto’s strong aura.

“You are in a bit of a—”

“Stuck in the middle,” Mikoto cut in, voice slow like speaking took a lot of effort, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Still.”

“Still?” Saruhiko and Misaki exchanged a worried glance. Come to think of it, Munakata had said if they wanted their lives back…

“Yes,” Munakata continued wryly, obviously displeased with being interrupted. “As I was saying, you were late arrivals, so I had to attend to you personally, but by now most others in your situation would’ve been properly sorted into heaven or hell.”

“Suoh,” Munakata went on, turning to the other. “I forgot to mention, Yata-kun is interested in attempting The Return.”

“Mm.”

“Quite,” Munakata said, as though he’d actually been given a proper reply to work with. “As I said, The Return is a journey of sorts. A dangerous one, and it never gets easier, no matter how many people attempt it.”

“And what does this journey consist of?” Saruhiko ventured for reasons unknown to even himself, and Munakata smiled perceptively at him. It made him more upset than it should’ve, and at the same time as he was losing his patience, Misaki dared to take a first step up onto the platform. Munakata gestured them both forward, and Saruhiko complied hurriedly, craving answers about something he apparently had no interest in doing.

But he felt compelled to know, and part of him tugged him forward, the small, illogical part of him which craved an alternative.

“Well, you see—”

“We have no clue,” Mikoto cut off again, finally taking his feet off the chair and leaning forward in his seat.

Munakata still looked highly irritated, and Saruhiko had to wonder if this was a common occurrence. Munakata did talk a lot…

“Ah Suoh, interested I see?”

Mikoto only shrugged, seemingly not caring. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed.”

The vague game was getting old, and Saruhiko had heard enough of such garbage from two random strangers who were juggling his fate in their hands.

He marched forward, not caring that despite his determination he was shaking, and stopped right in front of the two seated men, Misaki close in tow.

“I want answers. A while since what? What do you mean?”

_Why am I even asking? I’m not the one so damn ready to have his life back._

Despite himself, memories of his own life flashed in his head. Laughter, the sound of fax machines at the office, quiet walks in the city with people he actually didn’t mind being around…

Maybe he wasn’t the only one hanging onto things.

At the thought, he turned to glare at Misaki, like it was somehow his fault for influencing him, and the redhead flinched in surprise. “Ask your own questions idiot, you’re the one who wanted to come here,” Saruhiko spat.

He saw the other falter, if only for a moment, and then his eyes lit up brilliantly in fury. Saruhiko nearly felt like looking away from the intensity.

“H-hey asshole, don’t blame this on me! I don’t wanna be here!”

The redhead’s face was ablaze with anger, his eyes reflecting something close to rage, but his voice was off, it didn’t match the expression. It grew desperate, strained even, as he continued.

“Last thing I remember I’m walking to see my friends, and next thing I fucking know I’m here! So don’t fucking say shit to me!”

Saruhiko vaguely wondered if it was possible for them to still cry, because if it was, Misaki would’ve surely been, given the rawness and lost nature of his tone of voice.

Saruhiko didn’t like that it seemed, he guessed from the way his throat felt tighter.

Saruhiko’s face softened, and he looked down to see Misaki’s trembling fists clenched at his sides. _Ugh_.

He clicked his tongue, and kicked at the flat ground, searching for the words he hoped would be correct.

“Yeah well…how do you think it is for me,” Saruhiko muttered. “All I remember is the smell of fresh pavement.”

It was true, maybe if anything, he remembered screeching, like metal on said pavement. The stench had been strong, too much so, and then it was over.

It was quiet again, but it wasn’t the same, unnatural silence which was part of the afterlife. It was thick with…something he wasn’t familiar with.

When he looked up, Misaki was staring at him, eyes devoid of their previous frustration. They were sad now, but more importantly, they seemed to be searching Saruhiko’s.

“Yeah,” Misaki whispered, clearing his throat, pulling his beanie down in what Saruhiko would guess to be embarrassment. “You’re right.”

Saruhiko suddenly felt entirely too awkward.

Misaki smiled at him, it was small, unsure too, but Saruhiko felt as if he’d been hit. He couldn’t handle that face.

Turning away, Saruhiko nodded, any fight or reluctance he’d had toward the other boy draining out of him, at least for the moment. “You were too…I guess. Maybe this thing, the trials, might be worth knowing about…”

It was a sad excuse for an apology, not like he’d really been trying to give one. It was enough for Misaki though in the moment it seemed, who turned forward again with an affirmative hum and determination in his eyes.

“So, what’s going on?”

Saruhiko bit back a small chuckle, what a simple question, yet appropriate.

“Well,” Munakata said, a coy smile working its way onto his face as he looked between them. “What Suoh meant was, it’s been awhile since anyone has attempted the journey. Three decades to be exact.”

Then the frown was back, and Munakata seemed as if he was holding back an irritated sigh. “And as he said—”

“We dunno what’s on it,” Mikoto breathed out slowly, stretching leisurely in his seat. “It ain’t good though.”

“Suoh…”

“Not good _how?_ ” Misaki was seething, and Saruhiko was for once grateful for the other’s impatience.

“The route of the journey changes every time,” Munakata supplied. “It’s never the same. We are vaguely aware of what it _could_ consist of, but there’s no way to be sure.”

Again with too many uncertainties.

“It is never easy though, and we’ve watched countless people fail over the course of our time here.”

“How long has that been?” Saruhiko asked, suddenly remembering Munakata’s words.

_“He and I oversee…certain levels of the afterlife, so to speak.”_

Munakata and Mikoto exchanged a look then, silently questioning each other before reaching a verdict.

“Oh…two or three centuries I believe?”

Now that, that had his eyes widening.

Although, Saruhiko supposed it made sense, what with Munakata’s wacky wardrobe. It didn’t explain Mikoto though…

Misaki was frozen in shock beside him, small choked noises escaping him every few seconds.

Munakata must’ve felt Saruhiko’s suspicion from the way the boy was looking at Mikoto, and his eyebrows came up in realization.

“Oh! Suoh prefers to dress more…modernly. Can’t say why…”

“It’s comfy.”

Saruhiko was sure now he was being punked.

“You guys are like…demons or something!” Misaki nodded his head with conviction when he regained clarity, as if he’d cracked some sort of unsolvable case.

Mikoto shrugged, and Munakata just looked properly insulted.

No, demons didn’t run things…at least, Saruhiko wouldn’t think so. No, they’d have to be more powerful than that.

“More like an angel and a devil,” Saruhiko whispered, ignoring when Misaki looked at him with those overly expressive eyes.

Munakata paused, intrigued before a smile seemed to widen on his face at Saruhiko’s finding, nodding slowly. “A more correct comparison indeed.”

“So let me get this straight then,” Saruhiko said firmly, ignoring Misaki’s pacing next to him. “You run the afterlife, and yet you can’t tell us shit about a journey created by _you?_ ”

“Oh, we didn’t create it.”

Misaki paused at the statement at the same time Saruhiko did, looking up worriedly at Munakata. Even the man looked somewhat regretful of his words.

“We enforce it, we supervise it, but we have no say in it. It was something put in place by the universe, by the natural order of things.”

Perfect.

Saruhiko swallowed, the bad feeling surging back.

“And…what happens if someone, hypothetically, doesn’t make it?”

“They give up the luxury of being sorted appropriately,” Munakata said. “They are put into hell by default, no debate.”

“Fuck,” Misaki breathed.

Saruhiko’s sentiments exactly.

“One more thing I neglected to mention,” Munakata added, face grim. “There’s no surety that life will be rewarded back to you. It all depends how you complete the journey.”

“What?!” Saruhiko and Misaki both yelled at once, panic laced in their voices. Unbelievable. Saruhiko couldn’t even bring himself to come up with a follow up question, too upset and shocked as he ran a hand through his now messy hair.

“Are there any fucking…guidelines or shit?” Misaki asked in frustration finally, his tone fed up and less hopeful than before.

“Not any we are aware of. Though it’s wise to just follow the route you are given.”

**_Fuck_**.

What kind of all-powerful beings were these? Honestly, there were too many gray areas. For all he knew, he would be risking eternal damnation. Or maybe if he did get his life back, he’d wake up in a broken world, or in some terrible situation, or maybe he’d be cursed for the rest of it. The reward could be a fucking pat on the back for all he knew, after all, who knew how sadistic this…devil was, should he end up in hell.

Speaking of him, Mikoto looked bored, lazy as he sat seated next to Munakata, slouched in his seat wearing his ratty clothes. He…unsettled Saruhiko, in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. No way would he want to be stuck for eternity with him. It was not comforting. Well, it wasn’t like anything about their situation was particularly reassuring though.

There was no more discussion for some time as they both processed the situation. Saruhiko felt it nearly impossible to weigh the risks when he knew next to nothing, and he doubted Misaki was doing any better.

He’d made up his own mind. No wa—

“We’ll do it,” Misaki responded, not missing a beat or even considering all the angles of the proposition.

Saruhiko nearly laughed from the absurdity of it.

“You idiot, speak for yourself! We don’t even know anything about this,” Saruhiko spat, glaring between the redhead and the two immortals.

“Who the fuck cares? There’s a chance we’ll live again! Isn’t that enough?” Misaki huffed, scowling back as if Saruhiko was the one being totally ridiculous.

“There’s no guarantee of that, _they_ said so, and I’m not risking myself for nothing,” Saruhiko replied, crossing his arms defiantly. He was dead, what did he care? “Deal with it. We died. We’re done. And anyways, you can do whatever you want, you don’t need me.”

Misaki flinched, as if he’d forgotten about the whole death aspect of everything. It was obviously difficult for the other to accept being truly gone. Saruhiko watched as Misaki clenched his fists at his sides, the redhead biting his lip in frustration, searching for an answer. Typical.

“That’s what I—”

“I-I can’t accept that!”

What?

Misaki was looking at him, bold and sure, as if he could take on the whole world.

“Moron, you can’t cheat de—”

“I’ve come too far for things to end here! Come on, we have to—”

“We don’t know what the trials are Misaki,” Saruhiko supplied, sighing heavily and running a hand through his hair while Misaki continued to protest.

There were too many risks, too many unknowns. It wasn’t worth it.

“There’s the one thing,” a deep, gruff voice echoed into the noise, canceling it out. Both boys looked up, surprised the voice hadn’t come from Munakata, but Mikoto.

“Huh?” Misaki blinked dumbly, stepping forward. “Well…what is it?!” The redhead’s voice was laced with hope once more, like a kid being given a hint to a game, and Saruhiko was even surprised by how quickly the other bounced back. It wasn’t…unpleasant, but not exactly good either.

Mikoto looked to Munakata, like his syllable limit had run out and he couldn’t do any of the explaining himself.

“Oh! Yes, he’s right!” Munakata clapped his hands together, as if the whole notion of a perilous adventure was somehow exciting. “The last leg of the journey is making it through hell’s gates and meeting with the devil. He is your finish line, he will verify your success and completion of the expedition.”

Saruhiko tensed, looking back to Mikoto. Really? They’d have to find this guy after everything? But he was here right now!

Saruhiko groaned aloud, but it didn’t seem to phase Munakata, who simply continued to smile as if he’d offered up the best news in the universe.

The information really wasn’t helpful at all. Who knew if they’d even make it that far? The finish line wasn’t important if the middle would be devastating.

Saruhiko realized the implications though, and it made him even more skeptical of the task as a whole, as if he could’ve distrusted the situation any more than he already did.

If hell was the finish line…

“We start off in heaven,” he said, almost to himself.

Misaki looked at him in confusion, disbelieving. “Eh? That’s stupid! Wouldn’t it—”

“It starts off easy, and gets more difficult as you go,” Munakata cut in, leafing through Misaki’s folder. “Yata-kun, one of your hobbies listed is video games. You should recognize this as a standard.”

Those piercing violet eyes were beginning to seriously irritate Saruhiko.

“B-but—”

“I have the utmost faith in you both. Now, wh—”

“Question,” Saruhiko cut in, not keeping his displeasure concealed at the assumption that he was actually on board with anything. “How many people have actually completed this journey? Gone back to living and everything?”

Silence again. Nothing.

Mikoto paused along with Munakata, and they shared a glance once again, conversing between themselves like an annoying pair of old friends who could read each other simply.

Munakata exhaled slowly, folding his arms behind his back. “No one has ever successfully completed the trials.”

Misaki let out a desperate noise beside him, and Saruhiko’s heart clenched for some reason. “You’ve gotta be—”

“The closest someone ever got, was the entrance of hell’s gates.”

No.

Absolutely not.

Not in a million centuries.

Saruhiko had no real faith he’d be sorted into heaven anyways, but being placed there by his own will was out of the question.

“Misaki, we can’t—”

“We’d be together.”

The phrase was timid, barely above a mumble, but it resonated to Saruhiko’s very core, endlessly repeated and totally incomprehensible.

“That’s…”

_Ridiculous._

_Unwise._

_Idiotic._

_Unthinkable._

A plethora of appropriate wordage crossed his mind, and anyone could’ve taken a guess and probably have chosen some correct synonym. The shock was evident on his face. The discomfort too, but Misaki’s steadfast expression didn’t falter, he hardly flinched.

_Seriously?_

“I’m going to try with or without you,” Misaki continued, face becoming stern. “But…I _really_ want you to come. We could help each other.”

Saruhiko laughed. Right. Help each other. To what end?

“Before you begin, there is a verbal pact you must repeat,” Munakata interrupted, perhaps sensing the need for a push forward. “A vow of sorts. Once you begin the journey, you are not allowed to turn back.”

“I guessed,” Misaki said with a huff, but nodded all the same. “Okay.”

_So serious all of a sudden…_

“And to think you were yelling about demons a few minutes ago,” Saruhiko drawled, maybe trying to get a rise out of Misaki, _anything_ but his resolve.

“This is important,” the redhead whispered, but his voice at least shook a bit. It wasn’t from anger though, as Saruhiko expected.

“You’re afraid,” Saruhiko stated, louder too, and the words carried through the hall. Misaki seemed reluctant to answer, eyes lowering until his face was obscured and he was staring at the floor dead on.

“Yeah, I am. But…”

“But?”

“What’s scarier than death?”

To argue with such moronic conviction was pointless.

Saruhiko breathed out shakily, and he brought his hands up uncertainly, looking at the unblemished, pale skin. He hadn’t done a lot of heavy lifting in life, his skills were more mental than physical, but who knew how his hands would look if he attempted these trials. Bruised, cracked, and maybe broken. Or would his head suffer first? There was no way of knowing.

Maybe he was damned from the start, and that’s why he’d woken up late. But still…

_Wouldn’t you give anything just to see?_

Then the memories were back, the pointless drinking parties and late afternoon lunches, kind words which he’d become so used to over the past few years. Would those people…be sad if he was gone? Somehow, the possibility was making him the guiltiest, and he hated it. Death was supposed to be out of one’s control, people would move on and live without him. He shouldn’t care how they were doing…

Didn’t change the fact that he unfortunately did, very much too, given how his stomach dropped.

_“I was supposed to do big things soon!”_

There was that too. Saruhiko’s life wasn’t nearly as exciting as Misaki’s, but he’d had his own plans, small as they might’ve been.

_Great._

“Maybe.”

“Hm?” Misaki said, and Saruhiko cleared his own throat, replying before he could regret it, before he could push all those thoughts and memories away.

“I’ll do the stupid pact.”

He could see the way Misaki processed the statement, the redhead blinking in confusion for two beats before his face broke out in a full on grin, so full of life considering their situation. “Awesome!”

_Don’t make it sound so exciting._

Munakata coughed from his place in front of them, a pleased expression on his face.

“Marvelous, I had a feeling you’d come around Fushimi-kun.”

_Did you now?_

“Alright, shall we—”

“Wait,” Saruhiko said, a last minute thought coming to him. “I want my glasses.”

He couldn’t say why, but they were a comfort, and he hated what he looked like without them…too close to a certain someone. If it was the last thing he got to request, he’d take advantage of it.

“Your vision is fixed—”

“Non-prescription then,” he reiterated, set on his decision.

Munakata blinked once, then nodded curtly. “As you wish.”

All of a sudden there was a familiar weight on his face again. Saruhiko blinked, jolting a little. Munakata had barely finished the end of his sentence, but like magic, there his glasses were, sitting back on Saruhiko’s face as if they’d never left.

It wasn’t the most spectacular thing, but it had Saruhiko wondering what else Munakata could do.

“Well Suoh, ready?”

“Hm?”

Munakata blinked slowly. “We have to give the vow together. We’re a _team_ , remember?”

“Mm.”

“You’ve worked together for how many centuries?” Saruhiko dared to ask.

He was ignored.

“We will state the pact, and you will both repeat,” Munakata began. “One at a time, oldest first.”

“Is that a set rule?” Saruhiko asked with annoyance, trying to feel more displeased rather than…tingly when Misaki smirked his way.

“These things need or—”

“Order. Right.”

“Step forward,” Munakata instructed, and at the same time Mikoto got to his feet, moving to stand beside the other, hands in his pockets.

They did, and Misaki shot Saruhiko a small, hopeful sideways glance, and the taller did his best not to reflect any emotions back.

_This is insane…_

Yet there he was, offering up his soul, all because the idea of Misaki doing it alone left a bad taste in his mouth. They didn’t even know each other.

He didn’t speak up.

Mikoto stepped up first, at Munakata’s nudging, sounding thoroughly done with everything already. He looked at Misaki first, and then…

“I, Yata Misaki,” Mikoto said gruffly, words already too distinguished for the easy going tone, “have decided to begin The Return with Fushimi Saruhiko.”

Ugh. Even having it said in such an unserious voice had Saruhiko’s stomach churning.

Misaki repeated it though, no problem.

Munakata turned to Saruhiko next, nodding simply. “I, Fushimi Saruhiko, have decided to begin The Return with Yata Misaki.”

It came out easier than he expected it would when he repeated it, his voice only fluctuating slightly when it reached Misaki’s name.

It went on, each oath sounding more final and worrisome than the last, blending into each other until Saruhiko’s head was spinning. He repeated each one though, faultlessly too, with not so much as a stutter.

Until the very last one.

“With this final promise, we swear to not leave the journey’s path, and we swear to attempt this journey together,” Munakata finished, bringing up his hand to shake Mikoto’s. He looked to Saruhiko and Misaki next, gesturing for them to follow the same procedure.

“With this final promise, w-we swear to not leave the journey’s path, and we swear to attempt this journey together,” Misaki repeated, exhaling with relief, as if it’d been the most difficult thing he’d ever had to say. The redhead turned to Saruhiko, eyes shining, confident as he waited for Saruhiko to do the same.

He swallowed.

“With this final promise, we swear to not leave the journey’s path, and…”

He stopped, closing his eyes for but a moment, blocking everything out. It felt like he was dead again, stuck in silent nothingness. It didn’t bring any solace.

When he opened them though, there was Misaki. Striking, impatient, Misaki.

The redhead looked at him expectantly, begging him to continue. Saruhiko hated how difficult it was.

“Misaki…”

The redhead sighed loudly, frustrated, and stepped forward a little until he was directly in front of Saruhiko.

“I know we can do it.”

Saruhiko felt like he couldn’t focus, and his heart rate was increasing for some strange reason. _Idiot. You don’t even know me._

“C’mon! Don’t you have anyone you miss? Or that misses you?”

_Annoying._

Misaki had seen right through him.

It all flashed in his mind again, he couldn’t help it. A chorus of ‘Fushimi-sans’ and a flash of blonde. There wasn’t much, and he really shouldn’t care, people could survive without him, but…maybe he didn’t want them to.

“What’s there to lose?” Misaki’s amber eyes shone as he went on, hopeful as he held out his hand for Saruhiko to shake. He sounded so determined, but Saruhiko saw how he was shaking, probably both from anxiety and excitement.

It was strange, and he didn’t understand it. If Misaki was trembling from the mere idea of this excursion, why was he pushing so hard? Why was he willing to go so far?

_What’s scarier than death?_

Saruhiko clenched his fists.

Munakata looked between the two of them, intrigued, and he raised an eyebrow at Saruhiko as if asking if it was alright to continue.

Saruhiko looked back at Misaki. Those pools of amber never looked away from Saruhiko, and being under such an intense gaze was…hypnotic, and he found himself nodding slowly.

“And we swear to attempt this journey together.” Munakata’s voice rang through the atmosphere as he repeated the end of the phrase, as if Saruhiko could’ve forgotten it, and yet Saruhiko hardly heard him.

“And we swear to attempt this journey together,” Misaki repeated, hand still outstretched, his tone, the memories, and those words being the last things to convince Saruhiko.

As he recited the idiotic phrase, he repeated to himself: _this won’t work, there’s no guarantee, there’s no point._

But he felt himself raising his own hand regardless, taking Misaki’s and jolting at the feeling of skin, of another human being. He couldn’t help but notice Misaki’s hands were rough, like he’d worked hard.

_I’ve come too far for things to end here!_

And as the last word slipped from his mouth, Saruhiko fully resigned himself to Misaki’s farfetched and brainless excuse. What was there to lose? Everything and nothing. Life and death. A better question was though, what did it matter?

“…together.”


	2. The Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I'm back lol, sry for another chapter with gloomy Saru POV, but next chapter will have some Misaki for you so stay tuned ;) I hope you guys enjoy!!
> 
> Big thanks to my amazing beta EmeraldWaves!!!!

The landscape surrounding them was, for lack of a better word, heavenly.

For one thing, there was color. Color everywhere, pleasant pastels and bright hues of foliage, pavilions large and small, along with pools so clear they reflected every shade and object. Pinks, whites, and mixtures of fire-like colors would pop up too, similar to makeshift rainbow prisms, every angle and direction reflecting something new. Compared to the white nothingness of the middle level, it was almost too much.

There was something akin to sunlight which illuminated everything as well, bright enough to coat the area in a relaxing bath of light, but not harsh enough to make one squint or shield their eyes.

The perfect glow.

The sky made it hard to tell if it were daytime or night, for even with the glow, there were stars and quasars as far as the eye could see, and Saruhiko wondered if they were fake, because if so, it didn’t show one bit.

He felt as if he could make out moons and planets too; things which didn’t make sense but were still there, and he wondered between what planes of existence they were standing on.

The rolling hills of grass and forests in the distance seemed like something out of a movie, evergreen and stunning, practically inviting people to idiotically run to them. They were laid out in stark contrast to surrounding structures similar to concrete, buildings which held who knew what, the possibilities were never ending. There were homes too, from what he could see, though they were distant. The structures were spread out, but there seemed to be a lot, houses sitting on clouds and grass, encompassed by gardens and stones. Everything in the layout was perfect to the point of being sickening, and Saruhiko felt his face morphing into a scowl, but something stopped him.

There were smells too, and though they were strong given his time without them, they were...pleasant, but not only that, they were  _familiar_. It was striking, and he inhaled greedily despite himself. The air smelled like a variety of things, mixed together in an astounding assortment of all his favorite scents, each one distinguishable if tried to pick them out.

Fresh coffee, clean sheets, vanilla candles, the faintest touch of perfume...

It freaked him out.

It was...peaceful in a way he couldn't describe, but not one part of it was unsettling, no matter how long he searched for something, anything, that seemed off or disturbing. He waited, yearned for one thing to be different, one thing which would make him suspicious of the place, which would reveal something more sinister lingering beneath the surface.

But it was truly an oasis, feelings of contentment and lack of worries permeating the atmosphere, creating a mood of serenity whether he wanted it or not. Saruhiko hated it, hated it for the mere fact he didn't understand it. It was nearly frightening, how weightless everything felt, and he'd never experienced anything like it before. Not once.

Everyone around him was smiling, conversing, soaking in the good feelings and falling into the gentle, joyful surroundings.

And then there was him, a grimace set on his face, unable to stop breathing in the comforting scent of the space around him, and standing next to Misaki. Misaki, who looked like the definition of amazed.

The redhead's eyes were wide, and he was breathing hard, no doubt taking in the scents around him as well while his eyes become adjusted to all the brightness and splendor. Saruhiko looked away, not wanting to get sucked into the other's fascination with the place, no matter how tempting it was.

They wouldn't be enjoying it for long, in fact, they'd never see it again. At least, not for another five or six decades, and that was best case scenario.

"Saruhiko...this is incredible...this is...this is..."

"Heaven," Munakata cut in, standing behind them as he looked over the roaming landscape in admiration, eyes shining.

_Well duh, he runs the place. Of course he’d be happy to see it…_

It was strange though, the new expression on Munakata's face, like he was truly proud of what was in front of him.

“A real paradise for those deemed worthy.”

“It must be huge,” Misaki mused, taking it all in.

The redhead was right. After all, heaven housed the dead, all the dead from the beginning of time, so who knew how large it was, or how many people existed there.

They'd arrived from a portal of sorts, right from the meeting room, appearing with the simple, effortless wave of Munakata's hand. Said portal was still open, a wispy cut in the air, edges circular and transparent, blue waves falling off of it occasionally. Munakata stood on the other side of it, still technically in the meeting room as he spoke to them.

Nearby was a towering archway, plated with gold and pure white flowers, the long vines wrapping around the small, golden gate which sat under the wide arch.

People were lined up behind it too, and every time someone would be allowed in, the vines would unravel, allowing the gate to open without so much as an unpleasant squeak, admitting them.

_Heaven's gates..._

"Truly the finest place one can imagine, tailored to everyone," Munakata said, bringing Saruhiko out of his thoughts as he looked at the expanse of land with an appreciative smile. "For instance, what do you smell Yata-kun?"

The redhead was only momentarily baffled by the question, but then he was looking at the ground fondly as he inhaled, and his expression left nothing to the imagination. It was caring and wistful, and the display of emotion made Saruhiko’s own emotions feel more pronounced, and he fought hard to suppress the memories which came with the scents around him, or the curiosity about Misaki’s.

"I...I smell my mom's house, and my friend's bar!"

Actually, the enthusiasm and blind acceptance were more irritating than Saruhiko thought.

"How charming," Saruhiko muttered, rolling his eyes as he looked off to his left, seeing some groups of people interrupting their own conversations to stare at them.

"Hah?! Say that again!" Misaki’s voice caused him to look away before he could wonder about the groups more, and he looked at the energetic redhead dryly, making a point that no, he would not be repeating himself ever.

"This place is meant to be inviting for all," Munakata said, ignoring the quarrel. "Everyone smells something different, smells what makes them feel safe. Everyone exists here differently as well, some in places which remind them of their time on earth, their dream homes, others prefer to camp under the stars every night. Nothing is out of one's grasp here."

"That can't be true, not everyone can be happy..." Saruhiko's voice was disbelieving, upset and searching still for something amiss. Places like this...they were unfair.

"What the--" Misaki began, but was cut off swiftly by the same smooth voice.

"Oh? Perhaps. After all, there are many people here who have died young, those who have left people behind or dreams unfulfilled, same as the both of you," Munakata supplied, gesturing to the people entering through the gate, new arrivals who looked stunned and nervous, and the statement caused both boys to look to the ground. "But in time, they grow comfortable with their fate, and they embrace the way of life here. Not only that, but people here have the ability to watch over their loved ones who currently still live on the mortal plane."

_And we gave up almost any chance of being here..._

"Sounds nice and all," Misaki began, crossing his arms with a triumphant smile. "But I've got art to make! And I’d rather  _be_  with the people I love, not watch them."

_You never stop do you?_

"Quite," Munakata agreed with a wide smile. "Plus, you've already forfeited your sorting privileges anyways."

_That face…_

"Uh...right..." Misaki said shakily, and he swallowed before setting his eyes forward. "Anyways, where is this path at? I'm ready!"

Ah right, the path.

 --

_“We can see you from here,” Mikoto’s rough voice explained, and he glanced down lazily to the pool in the meeting room, kicking a foot into the steady waters and causing ripples to spread out. In every movement of the water, Saruhiko thought he could see images, brief flashes of people, and with every ripple, sounds escaped the pool. Voices, cries, laughs._

_Misaki must’ve been stunned too, but he recovered quicker than Saruhiko, eyes bright as he stared at Mikoto. “Whoa…what is it?”_

_“The pond of visions.”_

_Hah._

_Saruhiko sent Munakata a withering look, disbelieving, and torn between being annoyed and amused. “Is it actually called that or are you just trying to make it seem profound?”_

_“Second one,” Mikoto supplied, a light smirk on his face as Munakata pushed up his glasses._

_“Regardless of what it’s called, Suoh, it’s a remarkable thing,” Munakata went on, shooting a less than welcoming look to Misaki, who barely managed to hold back a snicker before realizing such a cutting gaze was on him. “It lets us see, well, everything. People living, people dead, it allows us to both watch over our respective domains when we cannot be there directly. Heaven and hell. More importantly, it will—”_

_“We’ll watch you,” Mikoto said, giving Misaki a rather encouraging smile for someone who was supposed to manage hell bound souls. Misaki didn’t seem to mind though, because the redhead immediately straightened in posture, a small grin gradually growing on his face. “We can’t help ya much though.”_

_“I’m not surprised,” Saruhiko muttered, crossing his arms as Misaki thanked Mikoto anyways, ignoring everything else as he complimented Mikoto’s style and apparent ‘awesomeness.’_

_The more explanations Saruhiko was given, the more anxious he became. They were really doing this, and regardless of if he wanted to or not, Saruhiko couldn’t stop hypothesizing about the challenges, of what everything would feel and look like._

_He might’ve been aggravated with Misaki for being so gung ho about it, but he realized it wasn’t true at all. Even now, being encouraged by the devil himself, and with a smile on his face, Misaki’s fists were clenched, and his foot tapped against the polished marble floor excessively._

_Misaki was afraid too, and Saruhiko was trying to find more comfort in that fact than alarm._

_Then, there was a firm hand on his shoulder, bringing Saruhiko out of his thoughts as he looked up, only to be trapped under a soft, violet gaze. Munakata was smiling at him, a knowing smile, but gentler, more sure. “Don’t worry Fushimi-kun, your abilities and intelligence are quite promising. I have the utmost faith in you.”_

_The words were pretty, useless and overly simplified. For all he knew, Munakata told everyone who went on the journey the same thing, perhaps to be polite or as a general last courtesy before sending people to their doom._

_Despite the likeliness of insincerity, Saruhiko found himself relaxing almost instantly, as if against his will, and he was unable to respond with anything more than a tongue click and a slightly displeased look. Munakata was a mystery still, both he and Mikoto were, but the man had a way of making Saruhiko believe his words and convictions, no matter how ridiculous._

_“We will, on occasion, be able to speak to you, but no direct help is permitted,” Munakata added, nodding to Mikoto, who stood up reluctantly._

_The air around them seemed to shift from professional to solemn at the action, and Saruhiko for once was wishing the annoying, clever smile was back on Munakata’s face. But no, Munakata simply stepped away from him, joining Mikoto at the top of the meeting room as Misaki moved to stand next to Saruhiko once again._

_“You two truly are brave for attempting such a feat, and we both wish you the best of luck,” Munakata stated, voice firm as Mikoto stuffed his hands into his pockets, both men serious and ceremonial aside from the contrast in posture. It set the mood back, reminded Misaki and Saruhiko that yes, they were about to advance on a journey to hell, one they couldn’t turn back from._

_Subtly, Misaki tugged on part of Saruhiko’s clothing, a small gesture of solidarity, and Saruhiko nodded softly. This wasn’t only Misaki and his ambitions, the taller could admit they were his now too. He wanted to go back, and he was going to try, no matter how idiotic it was._

_Saruhiko stood up a little straighter, setting his eyes forward as he’d seen Misaki do, and stared at the celestial beings in front of them._

_Munakata nodded down at them both, exchanging a final glance with Mikoto._

_“Let’s begin.”_

_\--_

The path had materialized seemingly from nowhere, not making a sound as the clouds dispersed to reveal a dark, cobblestone walkway amidst all the other light stone trails which weaved throughout the landscape.

As they both stepped onto it, Misaki stared at Saruhiko from the corner of his eye, allowing the taller to finally see the vulnerable flash of fear and confusion trapped in those brilliant irises, and Saruhiko met them with his own in agreement. They turned back one last time, catching both Mikoto and Munakata staring at them from the other side of the portal as it quickly began to close up, one last reassuring look being delivered from them both before they were gone without a trace, as if never having been there to begin with.

Saruhiko swallowed, closing his eyes and taking in the comforting scents around him, trying to imagine that maybe he was in his office still, like the whole thing was a dream.

But when he opened his eyes, Misaki was there, staring at him with what was supposed to be an encouraging grin, but ended up looking more constipated than anything.

It would have to do.

“After you,” the redhead said, clearing his throat with a cough as he looked into the distance, seeing the winding path disappear into the clouds.

And without much choice, Saruhiko stepped forward.

\--

As surreal as it was, the path through heaven was one without any issues, as Munakata had said. It was mostly flat, with few curves and gentle inclines, and as they walked they passed by people in all forms of different attire, some in modern wear, others in ancient styles of dress. Old people, young people, and occasionally some children too, which Saruhiko could tell made Misaki a bit uneasy.

It appeared as though heaven was truly tailored to everyone, and all the people were going about business as usual, reading novels, talking. People seemed to summon objects out of nowhere; there were books, pillows, lawn chairs, foods, anything and everything out of thin air. They also passed children running around what could only be described as a grand playground, far more extravagant than any mortal child could imagine. Swing sets which moved on their own, as high as the kids wanted, and a large tunnel system which they seemed to be playing hide and seek in. Jungle gyms, colossal slides, things truly from a child’s dream, and something Saruhiko couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Misaki moved quickly past it though, looking mildly disgruntled by the number of kids. Death was death after all, even if one did end up in paradise.

_Paradise…_

Heaven was strange, made up of so many aspects with seemingly infinite possibilities.

At one point, Saruhiko thought he smelled the faint scent of sand and sea water, and he turned to see the slight edge of an ocean’s horizon line way off in the distance.

It was clear that what they would saw on the path only scratched the surface of what heaven was actually composed of.

The path they were walking seemed out of place with its near black stone, looking drab and depressing amongst all the soft hues and joyful objects. It seemed to go on forever too, and Saruhiko was sure if he turned around he’d see nothing but peach tinted clouds and other people, not a trace of heaven’s gates or the path’s start.

He began to wonder how no one ever got bored here, everything looked the same. It was all nice and serene, and sure, there were some extraordinary things, but it was still the afterlife, still death.

No matter what he was allowed to build or have in heaven, as long as he knew he’d died young, Saruhiko would never have been happy existing there. He didn’t want heaven or hell, as of now, they were useless to him.

Judging from how Misaki’s looks of wonder slowly morphed into ones of annoyance, Saruhiko guessed the redhead felt the same.

How people like them could accept it was an unbelievable notion.

Although, Saruhiko thought it may be due to the fact he and Misaki weren’t exactly admitted to heaven, they were just passing through it, and therefore weren’t completely able to have more than just the smells tailored to them. Obviously, people in heaven had the power to manipulate it in whatever way they saw fit. After all, no one else around seemed to be feeling dull, though they were staring quite a bit…

In fact, it was as if people were gathering around them.

Misaki hadn’t noticed it yet, since he appeared to be quite wrapped up in his own head. It bothered Saruhiko, since he’d figured as soon as they’d started walking Misaki would be a chatterbox, but they’d barely spoken. Misaki probably had more of a thought process than Saruhiko had initially given him credit for…

“Hey, what are you good at?” Misaki suddenly broke through the peaceful murmurs surrounding them, pulling Saruhiko back into their own bubble, where only the two of them existed. It would be like that for a while he realized…

Soon they’d be all alone.

The question caught him by surprise though, because out of everything the redhead could’ve said…

“Why would you need to know something so trivial?” Saruhiko replied, instinctively trying to distance himself from the other on the narrow pathway, not trusting enough to step off it and onto the clouds, and settling for walking a few steps behind the redhead. It wasn’t as if he didn’t remember his life, he remembered everything quite clearly. Well, everything except his death and the moments leading up to it. It was all useless information though. Saruhiko was never comfortable when conversations drifted to topics which concerned himself. They didn’t seem advantageous to him at all.

“What do you mean? Tch, we’re kinda stuck together if you haven’t noticed,” Misaki started, deliberately trying to match Saruhiko’s pace so they walked together, fumbling a few times. Occasionally he stepped on Saruhiko’s foot, and he winced from the slight pain. “This fucked up adventure to hell is more than enough reason for me to want to know a little about you.

“And anyways, don’t we gotta know each other’s skills and shit? For the monsters…” Misaki scratched his head, looking up to the infinite sky above him as he turned his own words over in his head.

To Saruhiko, Misaki may as well have spoken another language, and for the first time, the taller stopped walking. It caused Misaki to nearly trip due to his efforts to stay level with Saruhiko, but he halted all the same, the two of them face to face with Misaki slightly ahead on the path.

“The…monsters?” Saruhiko said the word like it was new, stretching out the last syllable as if he’d heard wrong. Misaki flushed from the taller’s scrutinizing stare, and he moved his hands around wildly as he formulated an explanation.

“Or the…whatever! I’m just sayin’ we don’t know what the trials are!” Misaki went on with genuine conviction. “There could be monsters or…fire everywhere! Zombies!”

Saruhiko was close to turning around regardless of the binding contract.

“That’s ridiculous, there’s—”

“Oh, so you know then? Fuckin’ educate me,” Misaki said with amusement, the smart ass smirk growing on his face as Saruhiko remained silent. “Exactly! There could be flying dogs for all we know…”

“Out of all the examples you could’ve picked, why that one?”

Misaki ignored him, turning back around to continue walking, and Saruhiko sullenly followed. “Those things you mentioned, they’re legends and horror stories, stuff out of religious tales or books…”

Still, Misaki may have had a point. Obviously what they’d seen didn’t match any one religion directly, but there were still some similarities, concepts and images that rang true to them. And if that were the case…

Stories of demons, creatures of fire and sacrifice, three headed beasts and apparitions could all be very plausible threats.

“I was wondering about that too,” Misaki spoke again, pace slowing. “Does this mean all that shit is wrong?”

“More like...misguided.”

After all, he doubted anyone pictured someone like Munakata when they thought of angels or godly beings.

“Whatever, my point is, it’ll probably be dangerous,” Misaki went on, a serious note in his tone, impatience seeping into it as well. “I can’t fucking trust you if I don’t know a damn thing about you.”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue and looked off to the side, again catching glances of heaven’s patrons. He bit his lip, and he felt the pressure more so than he wanted.

Misaki had a point, an actual, meaningful point.

_Fine._

“I’m a software developer,” Saruhiko muttered with obvious displeasure. “I mess around with computers in an office all day, I don’t have any skills that’ll help fight your monsters.”

Well, it wasn’t entirely true. He was in decent shape, and his…friends often made him participate in sporting events despite his distaste for the exercise. He had good aim too, when he’d been younger, he’d always practice with the throwing knives he’d found in his family’s attic. It was dangerous, but it wasn’t as if his mother or father were attentive.

Still, he was no boxer or gymnast.

In fact, to an artist like Misaki, his job was probably tedious and drab.

“Whoa…”

_Yeah, nothing spec—_

“That’s so cool! You must be really smart, that’ll definitely come in handy!” Misaki eyes were on fire as they turned to look at Saruhiko, and it was like he’d heard the best news of his life. For whatever reason, Saruhiko shivered a bit from the wonder in the redhead’s voice. “Thank god, I’ve never been great at that stuff. I’m much more into history…well, when I was actually in school, heh.”

Saruhiko didn’t know why, but the compliment didn’t make him feel all that unpleasant.

“I can lift heavy shit too, and I’m pretty good at fixing stuff...I have to work a lot of small jobs to support myself,” Misaki finished, the same determined smile from before set on his face, hopeful, as if he could take on the world. They both could very well be doing just that in fact, with what little they knew about the journey itself.

The reminder wasn’t comforting.

Overall, they were both normal everyday people, nothing truly exceptional or useful about their individual strengths. There was no way to gage how they’d actually do with the challenges.

“Right...”

Saruhiko had never been so on edge in his life, the closest he’d come to it was probably his childhood, when he’d go to  _that_  house every day, not knowing what to expect behind the door in the desolate, overbearing place he was supposed to call his home.

But at least in that situation, he had a vague idea, and the knowledge that if his father  _was_  home, it would mean an awful night for him.

This was another issue entirely.

The discomfort must’ve actually shown on his face for once, because before long Misaki was staring at him in worry rather than amazement. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

_Nothing a stranger should concern himself with._

“None of your business,” Saruhiko muttered as he pushed back the uneasy feeling in his gut.

For the first time he’d been in the beautiful space around him, Saruhiko felt the air go tense, and not even the familiar aromas of his past life could calm him as Misaki turned away. Though the redhead didn’t seem angry…

Saruhiko didn’t dare try to see his face though, something about Misaki’s expressions, his voice, his eyes…it all had a weird effect on him, made him feel strangely different, yet safe all at once. He didn’t like it, didn’t like not knowing how someone could make him feel so strange after barely meeting.

It had taken years for Saruhiko to build the same amount of comfort with those he was close to, yet Misaki was barging his way in, asking about Saruhiko’s life and strengths like they were already friends.

_Why?_

“You know,” Misaki began, eyeing Saruhiko with an amused smile. “You don’t have to act all shy, we’re a team now and…”

“And…?” Saruhiko inquired with hesitation, reluctantly letting the soothing words soak into him.

Well, maybe he shouldn’t have asked why. He already partly knew.

Misaki might’ve had a point, acting reserved and distrusting was useless in their situation. If he was going to get anywhere, he’d have to put some faith into the redhead…

If he wanted to see them again…

“I miss them too,” Misaki finished, and it made Saruhiko nearly choke. “So, you can count on me, okay? As long as I can count on you too, you dumbass.”

Misaki was closer than Saruhiko had originally remembered, as if they’d drifted together over the course of the conversation, the redhead’s face clear. It was like Misaki was the only thing Saruhiko could focus on. The redhead had seen through him so easily, but he didn’t have the strength to be upset about it.

He was tired. Exhausted even, despite being replenished by the afterlife in every way. No, Saruhiko was ready to go home.

“Yeah.” Saruhiko realized he was now walking side by side with the other. “You have friends or something?”

“Huh? Yeah, lots! They’re real jerks but…” Misaki’s voice held excitement now, his face and tone still filled with overall nostalgia as he stared off down the path. “They’re great. I have my family too, my mom, stepdad, and my younger siblings! They’ll be fine but, I don’t want them to cry. I wonder if they even know yet…”

The guilt and concern were heavy in Misaki’s voice, and the redhead tried his best to keep his eyes steady as he gave Saruhiko a small smile, but his face, as always, gave everything away.

Saruhiko could unfortunately relate, for all he knew, everyone had found out about his death from the news. They’d all no doubt go searching for him when he didn’t go into work, and the thought had a seed of guilt growing in the pit of his stomach.

But, if he could make it back, then he could make the feeling go away. For himself, and for Misaki.

“Your skills should be useful too I guess, or something,” Saruhiko admitted after a beat of silence.

Misaki smirked at the sorry excuse for a compliment, bumping his fist against Saruhiko’s chest firmly. “Yeah no shit! We’ve got this!”

It was hard to argue with such overwhelming confidence, and having so much faith placed in him had Saruhiko’s lips twitching upwards, almost pleased despite their distressing situation.

“First thing I’m going to do when I’m living again, is go see my mom,” Misaki said in a whisper, his face a bit forlorn despite his determination. “It’s been a long time.”

From the way the redhead’s eyes wavered, Saruhiko could only guess ‘a long time’ meant more than a just a few months. The expressions of shame and blatant regret seemed uncharacteristic on Misaki’s face, not like Saruhiko knew him well but…they didn’t sit right was all. The overly energetic, youthful face from before was much more appealing.

Misaki was so open with his emotions, Saruhiko found himself struggling to respond. It was unnatural to him, even knowing at this point, he should trust Misaki. But even the notion of fast trust, of someone knowing him too well, made him skittish for a few moments. Initiating those sorts of things…

Thankfully, he was saved.

“What about you?” Misaki was looking at him, expectant, and with what Saruhiko thought was a slight flush on his face. A new expression, one Saruhiko hadn’t seen on the shorter before. Weird.

But…

“ _Saruhiko if you’re late to the rehearsal again, I’ll make sure Hidaka-kun erases all your files!”_

_“I don’t think she’s kidding Fushimi-san!”_

_“Andy…you were late too…”_

Right; he’d be lying if he didn’t have people in mind.

“I’m going to go see some idiots,” Saruhiko answered, exhaling peacefully with a more noticeable smile, even at the redhead’s response. Misaki chuckled beside him, and his eyes were a bit disbelieving before his expression turned thoughtful. It made him feel…strange. Saruhiko wasn’t able to hold Misaki’s genuine gaze long because of it, and he felt heat climbing up his face for the same unknown reason, even as he moved to turn away.

Only to be once again met with more eyes than the last time.

“What the hell?” Saruhiko whispered harshly, trying to avert his eyes somewhere else, anywhere else, but always meeting the gazes of the people surrounding them.

“What?” Misaki asked, and his face scrunched up in concern at Saruhiko’s behavior.

“This whole time everyone’s been staring at us, there’s even more now than when we started,” Saruhiko explained, keeping his voice hushed as much as possible.

“W-what?” Misaki’s eyes widened as he frantically glanced around, spinning in a circle to get a full view before he tugged down his beanie, as if that would successfully make everyone go away. “B-but why—”

“They’re staring at you because they think you’re damned,” a light, bouncy voice made them turn instantly, and there, in a meadow which seemingly had manifested out of  _nowhere_ , was a young man, not much older than they were, with a kind smile on his face as he planted flowers. “And well, it’s a little true don’t you think?” As if to punctuate his question further, the young man winked stupidly, holding up his trowel in a dorky pose which had both boys eyeing him suspiciously.

Then the young man gave them a startled look, glancing between them and his shovel. “Oh don’t mind this thing! It’s my newest pastime, I gotta keep busy around here, mhm,” he continued, flinging the trowel into the dirt while he bounced up from his seated position, and Saruhiko sighed at the jubilant nature of the young man, surprised that he’d finally found someone worse than Domyoji.

“Wait, damned?” Misaki asked, speaking at the same exact time as Saruhiko, who chose to inquire about who exactly the guy  _was_.

“Yes! And…Totsuka Tatara!” Totsuka answered each of them cheerfully. “The pleasure is all yours!”

Saruhiko had decided in the span of a few seconds that he did not like this guy. 

Without waiting for a response, and ignoring the glare he was receiving from Saruhiko, Totsuka went on as he packed his seed packets and pots into a haphazardly weaved basket.

_Pastimes huh…_

“This path only appears when people attempt the Return,” he said. “Everyone knows it, and some see it as a bad omen. Others mostly just want to take guesses as to whether or not you’ll make it! I like the look of you two, so I’m going to say yes!”

With the bold claim, Totsuka hopped onto the path with them, earning a collective gasp from their unwelcome audience. The blond didn’t seem deterred though, in fact he didn’t so much as bat an eye, the obnoxious smile staying firm on his face. “By the way, I’m a great guesser, so you guys are in luck.”

_Enough._

“What the hell are you doing?” Saruhiko seethed, annoyed Totsuka was blocking the only direction he could potentially storm off in.

Misaki, who hadn’t seemed nearly as annoyed as much as intrigued with the other man, gasped, punching Saruhiko in the arm. “Hey maybe he’s supposed to help!”

“Help? All he’s done is spout nonsense,” Saruhiko said, hissing a bit as he cupped where Misaki had hit him, when all of a sudden Totsuka’s finger was right in his face.

“That hurt, didn’t it?”

_Well no shit._

Saruhiko was about to yell back, but then he gasped, realizing what the other was indicating.

It did hurt.  _What?_

He thought back, with mild irritation, to what had happened over the course of walking the path. The pain of Misaki stepping on his feet, the shivers, the heat rising to his face. He was getting his senses back…

“What’s wrong Saruhiko? Hey I didn’t mean to hit that—”

“No, shut up, it wasn’t bad. But…I  _felt_ it,” Saruhiko said aloud, still processing the new revelation when Totsuka interrupted once more, knowledgeable and overly jovial as he continued to prattle on.

“The farther you walk on the path, and the closer you get to the end of heaven, the more you start to get all your feelings back! Interesting huh?”

Interesting? Somewhat. Problematic? Completely.

Saruhiko hadn’t even thought about it, but of course they’d get their senses back for the journey. Had he really thought he wouldn’t be able to experience pain on a trip to hell?

“W-wait, seriously?” Misaki’s voice was a little too loud for his liking at the troubling moment, and Saruhiko childishly stepped on the redhead’s foot with a muttered ‘see?’

“Ah! Fuck you!” Misaki looked about ready to brawl, grabbing Saruhiko by the collar of his shirt as Totsuka continued as if nothing was wrong.

“Anyways, I’m here to help! It’s not my job or anything,” Totsuka leaned in, whispering like it was all a big secret. “But I think it’s fun! It’s always interesting people who attempt the Return, though, they’re not always very nice.

“You guys seem like you get along with everyone fine,” Totsuka paused to allow Saruhiko to trip Misaki, “and you need all the help you can get. Hell has a  _ton_ of downers.”

Well,  _that_ got their attention, and Misaki stopped mid strangle to look at Totsuka, who was still smiling expectantly. “What…what else is hell like?”

For once he and Misaki were on the same page it seemed, and Saruhiko was only a little bit perturbed when Misaki let go of him, allowing him to fall on his ass.

“Oh, hm. Tough to describe since I’ve never been there, but it doesn’t have the same perks,” the blond explained, face twisting in over-dramatic agony as he went on. “And I hear it’s so boring, there’s nothing new to learn!”

_Seriously?_

“I don’t—” Saruhiko began, but then Totsuka caught his attention again. Weird how he was able to do that, drag the conversation out tediously until it nearly became unbearable, before actually supplying something interesting to start the cycle all over again.

“You also can’t watch your loved ones in hell, he’s not supposed to let you,” Totsuka whispered the last part, and Saruhiko instantly thought of Mikoto, lounging around lazily, in charge of a world of lost souls. He probably didn’t even care about the rules he was up keeping, just sat in his shabby chair all day.

Not that Munakata didn’t have any blame either, who knew what constraints he operated under.

“Damn the both of them,” Saruhiko murmured, picking himself up off the ground. “An angel and a devil, they’re more like fake secretaries, they’re pointless.”

“Oi, Saruhiko! You shouldn’t say stuff like that! Plus Mikoto-san seemed alrig—”

Oh yeah, that was also annoying. Misaki’s weird lenience towards the literal  _devil._ “Misaki, you realize if you fail,  _he’s_ the one who’s going to make you suffer, right?”

“W-we don’t know that!”

Saruhiko scoffed. It appeared that arguing with Misaki about it was a waste of his time, and he focused his efforts on trying to weave around Totsuka, who was standing there dumbly, expression thoughtful.

“Oh well…maybe gloomy guy is right,” Totsuka mused. “But it’s not all easy you know!”

Totsuka hummed to himself, finally turning around to clear the path for them both as he started to walk. “Now come on! You’re not gonna get anything done if you stay here!”

Totsuka walked surprisingly fast, and a few seconds of the two boys being dazed cost them more than ten feet of space between them and the lively young man. Misaki exchanged a curious glance with Saruhiko before jogging to catch up, obviously still off from their quarrel, but once again he asked the right questions.

“Wait, what do you mean? And…” Misaki stopped, looking around as the people who had all gathered began to slowly disperse, stopping in their quest to follow the three with hushed whispers. “Why are they leaving?”

It all of a sudden felt a bit too grim, the air becoming heavy and more congested around them the further they walked. Now he was aware of his senses returning, Saruhiko felt everything a little too much, the pain in his chest, the curling in his stomach. He was no stranger to foreboding, of knowing something unpleasant was approaching. Saruhiko had endured the feeling constantly as a child, and he’d lived many peaceful years without it, but the familiarity never went away fully.

Totsuka gave a small laugh as he skipped happily along the walkway, and the clouds surrounding them began to steadily darken, and soon people were nowhere to be found. “No one would dare hang around so close to the edge! It’s not like they can actually go on the journey, but I think it still creeps them out.”

_The edge of heaven._

Where the real trials would begin. Somehow it made the churning in his stomach even worse, and he glanced at Misaki, who was tugging at the sleeves of his sweatshirt with excessive roughness. Saruhiko wondered how many times he’d done it over the course of walking, since it looked as if the fabric was stretching abnormally, the white strands fraying as the redhead continued to pull anxiously at it.

“But anyways, you know, your situation may seem bad, but don’t blame the rulers! They make hard decisions, but they do their best…” Totsuka sighed, watching as the clouds dissipated into the gross and discolored fog ahead of them. His face seemed to be the only bright, fond thing left in the area. “King…and Munakata-san, they are as helpful as can be! It’s not easy to be forced to put people into such black and white categories you know!”

_King?_

The only logical inference would be that he meant Mikoto-san, and the fact didn’t make Saruhiko anymore fond of Totsuka. Who referred to the devil in such an admirable way?

He ignored it though, focusing more on Totsuka’s words.

As much as he hated to admit it, Saruhiko had thought about it. What destined a person for heaven or hell? What were the standards? No one was a good person, not all the way, everyone did bad things. Some people did cruel, unspeakable things for the sake of good causes, others not so much. Supposedly ‘good’ people succumbed to corruption and meekness on a daily basis. He himself wasn’t exactly a model citizen for a large portion of his life.

How could someone, even an immortal, all-knowing being, possibly make such a decision?

“I know it’s true for Munakata-san especially, he likes order, so this job is quite painful for him,” Totsuka supplied. “And King…Mikoto, he probably lies around all day ha! He doesn’t stomach the position well either. Especially when people forfeit!”

“Forfeit?”

Totsuka hummed, but Saruhiko noticed his skipping faltered, indicating a breach in the man’s façade for once. Saruhiko wasn’t sure he wanted to know why though. From what he’d seen, if something could frazzle Totsuka, maybe it was best they didn’t know.

Then the blond stopped, looking around the fogged area, searching before placing his hands on his hips, the air becoming final and still.

“Nothing!” Totsuka exclaimed into the void. “Let’s just say, some people will do whatever it takes to be with people they love.”

Totsuka sighed dramatically, wrapping his hands around himself as the two boys eyed him with confusion. “The rulers really do have it tough, even in situations like this! Sending you two to do something so dangerous.”

_Well, it was our decision._

Although, he thought back to Munakata’s knowing smile, and how ready he’d been to tell them about the Return.

It didn’t matter if it was suspicious though, because it was done, and Saruhiko didn’t have the energy to dwell on it anymore.

As if to highlight the solemn endnote of the conversation, Totsuka stopped, looking back at them with a smile as the mist in front of him gradually began to clear. “Don’t worry, Munakata-san and Ki—Mikoto, all they want is to protect souls as best they can. That includes yours, so, let’s get the show on the road huh?”

Totsuka looked forward again, tapping his foot impatiently, whispering to himself as he slowly turned his head. “Now, where…”

As if bending to the question’s will, a gust of wind came from the west, clearing some of the heavy mist like a knife.

Saruhiko shielded his face as Misaki raised a sleeve to cover his eyes, and by the time they both recovered enough to look back up…

There it was. It was large, intimidating even. A grey mass coming out of the flat, wispy landscape, an entrance with stairs attached to it.

It was a tunnel, one which descended into an abyss below, devoid of light, small and claustrophobic.

It wasn’t anything grand, not like everything else up to that point had been. It was a narrow, steep staircase, the walls looking unnaturally caved in, as if the roof was compromised. It stuck out oddly on heaven’s flat ground, protruding out like a sore. Unlike the rest of heaven, it lacked the comforting feeling of safety. It was quite the opposite, shrouded in black. The smell from the bottom of the stairs was putrid, and there was blood and handprints everywhere along the chipped walls, as if someone had once tried to climb back up and claw for the entrance. The mix of smells could only be described as wet and coppery, the faintest aroma of soil tossed in along with it. Like a cemetery without the flowers, without the nostalgia. Saruhiko wished for the smell of his office back more than anything in that moment.

The steps resembled ones in city alleyways, the steps formed by cracked cement and grime. The railing was rusted, and it was impossible to see anything after the sixth step. Complete darkness. The epitome of negativity and dread.

And Saruhiko thought he was bad.

“What kind of fucked up stairway to heaven is this?!” Misaki’s voice at least, shattered the eeriness somewhat.

Totsuka’s eyes widened comically, and he began to laugh, mixing with the heavy atmosphere awkwardly, managing to finally weird out the redhead. “That’s just a myth! Well, it is a stairway, but you can’t come back up, you’ll disintegrate instantly,” Totsuka informed, raising a finger as if giving an educational lesson. “Not pretty by the way…”

“So…this is it then,” Misaki said, more to Saruhiko this time, and the taller held his gaze, reluctantly showing the emotions which were no doubt reflected in his own blue irises. Misaki must’ve appreciated it too, because regardless of how hesitant the smile was, it was there, trusting in a way Saruhiko was gradually beginning to understand.

_Right, we’re supposed to do this together._

As stupid as he found it, if it meant getting back, he’d do this with Misaki.

“Yup! Best of luck to you,” Totsuka said, backing away from them to create a clear path down the stairs. “Like I said, I’m a good guesser, so you should do great!”

_You say it like it’s a guarantee._

“Thank you Totsuka-san,” Misaki said, grateful tone and all, and even Totsuka seemed caught off guard momentarily before he returned the calm smile.

The blond hadn’t been what he’d call  _helpful_ , but he’d answered some questions, and in the end it was better than nothing in their situation. Saruhiko clicked his tongue, choosing to simply move past Totsuka without giving any thanks other than a nod, and found himself at the top of the steps, waiting for Misaki.

“I’ll see you later!” Misaki called as he moved to stand beside Saruhiko. “Just gotta make it big first and get all old!”

Misaki could be so aggravatingly optimistic, but it didn’t stop Saruhiko from feeling strangely warm and light when he spoke with such belief. Saruhiko didn’t get it, but he let it slide in favor of focusing on what was in front of him.

“Let’s—”

“Oh!” They both turned back at Totsuka’s exclamation, only to see the same, fond smile from before painted on his face as he waved goodbye to them slowly. “When you see Mikoto again, tell him not to worry…I’m alright.”

Saruhiko glared, wanting to spit back how he hoped he’d never see Mikoto again, but before he could, Misaki was nodding, grabbing the stairs’ railing with one hand and a deep breath.

For whatever reason, Saruhiko felt the need to really take in those pools of amber when they were on him again, just once more before they ventured into darkness.

“Ready Saruhiko?”

Well, there was no refusing.

\--

Totsuka grew smaller and smaller as they walked, his voice growing muffled and static-y as they descended, like a bad radio channel, distorting itself until it faded off completely.

The darkness of the tunnel was all consuming, and it got worse as they went, pitch black and cold, and Saruhiko was sure if he looked back now, he wouldn't see the faint light of heaven any longer. No Totsuka, no clouds, nothing but black.

Had he been a few years younger, Saruhiko was sure he’d be having some sort of anxiety attack. The lack of light, the stairs, the unknown, everything coupled together reminded him far too much of when he was little, hiding as long as he could in his room until he got hungry or needed something he’d left downstairs. The bottom level of his house, shrouded in the night, was menacing, but no, he knew what could possibly be down there. The sneers, the maniacal laughter, an impending chase to a locked closet where he’d have to wait out the rest of the night until his father grew bored of banging on the door.

The memories came back sure, but he was no child, and as much as those things still would plague him in dreams, in flashes of remembrance, he was stronger now, and he wouldn’t let the fear of his father consume him. He was gone. Dead.

_Just like me._

Somehow, the realization dulled the comfort. At least Misaki was with him though, even as unsure as the redhead was.

They both fumbled as best they could as light receded, but the lack of vision coupled with the congested air and overall uneasiness made walking difficult.

It got to the point where they had to stop, Misaki tripping over holes in the staircase or bumping into Saruhiko, and the taller himself may have been on edge, eyes shifting anywhere and everywhere to try and catch even a glimpse of something recognizable.

They were blind, and that was a whole different issue. Forget his memories and childhood paranoia, this was real, and he couldn’t convince himself out of this one.

Saruhiko knew all about being unable to see, from years of living on his own, taping his shabby glasses together and using super glue when he didn't have enough money to afford new pairs. His parents especially had never prioritized his health, including his vision, and as torturous as it was, he knew what it was like to be robbed of sight.

Misaki on the other hand, did not.

The redhead was trembling a bit as he stopped, grabbing onto Saruhiko's sleeve with a vice grip as they stood in the suffocating corridor. His breathing was heavy, and the curses pouring from his mouth were far from minimal.

"How the hell are we supposed to get out of here?" Misaki whispered, voice carrying through the abyss with all its panic, before it was gone.

The darkness echoed back nothing, and it reminded Saruhiko of when he'd woken up in the white room, but no, this silence was different.

It was tense, heavy, like the feeling someone gets when they're alone but know they’re being watched, analyzed. It was like every sound of their footsteps, their breathing, it was all swallowed up.

Saruhiko hadn't felt dread so strong in ages.

Saruhiko tried to shrug Misaki off, pulling his hand away, but the movement only managed to make the redhead move his hand over Saruhiko's, grasping it tightly. "How should I know? Maybe we don't ever get out of here, it's not like I have a map. Let go of me..."

"S-shut up! I don't want to lose you in here, a-and anyways it's really freaky and--" Misaki's voice was hardly steady, and his hand shook, clammy against Saruhiko's. For someone so determined, the fear seemed uncharacteristic. It wasn't as if Saruhiko was exactly comfortable either though...

Misaki's hand was the only thing he could comprehend in the space around them, the skin rough and calloused, clutching him tight as if any second he could disappear, leaving them both stranded. "Misaki, if we just keep going straight--"

"We don't know if the path only goes straight though! There could be all kinds of fucking turns and shit!"

"We're still at the beginning, it can't be that complicated," Saruhiko said, applying pressure to Misaki's hand in an effort to calm down the redhead's nerves. "I don't want to be in here anymore than you do, so just  _walk,_ and if we hit a wall we'll deal with it then. Don't pull all this scared crap after all the nonsense you spouted about working together."

If nothing else, the last piece of his words seemed to snap Misaki out of it, and he could hear the redhead take a deep breath, slow and measured.

"You're right," Misaki breathed out, and Saruhiko heard the railing shift, telling him Misaki had gripped it once more "But I'm not letting go, just to be safe! Okay?"

Saruhiko found no point in objecting, even if Misaki's hands were sweaty and his grip was too harsh. He wouldn't admit it, but it may have been a bit of a comfort, having something to ground him. "I don't care."

Misaki hummed, too distracted with his task to retort as he started to walk again, slow and careful, one hand moving along the sides of the wall.

Saruhiko did the same on his side, realizing how much more narrow the space had become when he found he couldn't even extend his arm fully before it came into contact with the damp, freezing surface.

The trail seemed to be endless, and even though Saruhiko expected the overwhelming feelings of being lost to get easier, they never did. Their eyes never adjusted, because what felt like an hour later, Misaki was still tripping, still having to completely focus on his footing to avoid a fall or a stray piece of upturned concrete.

So dark, so...

And then, as if laying out the perfect trap, there were lights, some faint, fiery sparks in the distance. They resembled torches or lampposts, and they were far off into the chasm.

Misaki gasped, immediately taking off in a sprint for the source, and it was only the harsh tug at Saruhiko's arm that had him holding Misaki back. It was a struggle, Misaki was strong, and Saruhiko nearly slipped from the resistance.

“Misaki! Quit it!”

He heard the redhead yelp from being pulled back so suddenly, and Saruhiko could feel the anger coming off him as he seethed impatiently. “What—”

“ _Slow._ Are you trying injure yourself before we’ve even gotten out of this damn place?” Saruhiko tugged Misaki back again, emphasizing his point by making the redhead trip over another stray piece of debris, probably one of many along the ground.

“But—”

“It’s not a race, genius,” Saruhiko muttered, bracing his hand against the railing and beginning to step down a few inches to where Misaki was, careful not to drag his feet.

“Shut the hell up! I know…” Misaki, despite his grumbling, waited for Saruhiko to join him on the same step before beginning forward again, his pace measured and cautious once more.

It was an agonizing wait, but worth it in the end, the torch lights becoming brighter the closer they got, and soon Saruhiko could make out the features of Misaki’s face and body as they approached, all the sharp curves and tanned skin becoming more visible as the redhead excitedly continued on, and Saruhiko stared, stared because Misaki was the only sight in the space even remotely worth looking at.

And then, without him even noticing, they came to a halt, standing in a small circle with pictures and symbols etched onto the walls.

More importantly though…

There was a door. A shoddy, poorly shaped door. It resembled a piece of driftwood, curved at the top with splinters sticking out everywhere, stuffed haphazardly into the wall to cover a hole. There was a small, pathetic wooden latch which kept it from being opened, and Saruhiko knew it had to be more than it seemed. It was keeping things locked inside after all.

Regardless of its condition, it radiated power and importance, and Saruhiko felt his insides turn, his brain's fight or flight instinct screaming at him to turn around, get away from it, as if something on the other side of the door was waiting for them to enter.

Misaki was frozen beside him, face dumbstruck as his hand tightened once more on Saruhiko's, bringing the taller back to reality before he could make the mistake of turning around.

_Right, that wouldn't be a good idea..._

"Hey Saruhiko, look," Misaki said, voice dazed as he pointed to the top of the door, finally letting go of the taller’s hand. Saruhiko tried not to chase the warmth. "I think it says something there!"

There was what appeared to be a smudge above them, and the taller squinted, unable to make out what it was. Curious, Saruhiko looked to his side to where a torch sat, grabbing it as best he could despite its weight, and shone it upon the surface Misaki was gesturing to.

It was an inscription, a short one written in sloppy hand, similar to when someone writes a phrase in fresh cement. It was crisper though, the edges more pronounced, and it was obvious no mortal had put it there.

It wasn't written in any language Saruhiko knew though.

"Misaki, do you speak any other language languages?"

"Not whatever  _that_ is," the redhead replied.

_Great_.

"Well, that's—"

And then before their eyes, the characters moved, morphing and twisting slowly, nearly unrecognizable as anything more than tally marks until they gradually became words they could both understand.

"It...changed," Misaki breathed, the hint of amazement from before drifting into his tone.

Saruhiko didn't know how relieved he was though.

_To a fate worse than death._

That was what it said, plain as day with no room for interpretation.

The silence between them lasted well past any comfortable length.

"Well, that's encouraging," Misaki said, voice broken up by an awkward laugh which wasn't even remotely convincing.

"Yeah..." Saruhiko dropped the torch back into its holder, not once taking his eyes of the phrase. "Can't turn back anyways..."

"Tch, so why even put it there?" Misaki muttered, kicking the door in frustration. 

_Because it's supposed to make you feel weak._

What a childish tactic.

"As if something like that is gonna stop me anyways." Misaki's voice was set, and the torch light was reflected by his eyes, blazing and confident. Saruhiko half expected one of those idiotic, hopeful smiles to return to the redhead's face, but it didn't. If anything, Misaki looked angry, ready to fight whatever came his way.

Saruhiko didn't know if he liked it or not.

Still...

"Saruhiko," Misaki's voice, firm for the first time since they'd left Totsuka behind, caught his attention instantly.

“What?” His voice came out soft, a little too small for his tastes, but the redhead didn’t mind, moving his rough hands atop the latch of the door.

“Help me lift it?”

 --

An ashtray probably looked more inviting than what they were standing in.

Desolation, nothing but rot and arid spots where fallen trees and dusty, identifiable structures littered the cracked ground.

It might as well have been an old cemetery, where everything in nature went to die.

There were things in the distance though, archways it seemed…maybe some buildings. The only issue was…

“Hey, where’s the path?!” Misaki’s voice yelled into the silence before being drowned out by strong wind, eyes searching frantically.

They had no idea where to go. It all seemed the same, no roads or trail markers to be found.

“Mikoto-san! Other guy!” Misaki called up into the air around them, expecting a response. “What the fuck?”

_Nice._

Saruhiko waited too though, naively hoping maybe they would reach out to them, and maybe a calm, informative voice would tell them a hint, and it would be followed by a low grunt.

But there was nothing.

Saruhiko kicked the ground, sand flying into the light wind around them, only to hear a distinguishable scuff. He looked down, catching a glimpse of black before it was covered up once more.

“Misaki, wait,” Saruhiko said, and the redhead went to his side immediately with an exasperated ‘what?’

_What indeed._

Swallowing his disgust, Saruhiko bent down, brushing away the dead soil and grey ash with his bare hands until the familiar cobblestone appeared, bending towards the right.

“There it is…”

There it was. Stretching off into what seemed to be thick brush, and Saruhiko inhaled foolishly, greeted by a damp, putrid stench, telling him it must’ve been a swamp or some kind of marsh.

Weird how even being quite a ways away, the landscape seemed to be aware of them,  _alive,_ and taunting with its scents and eeriness, waiting for fresh prey to step into its clutches.

Pointless intimidation for people who didn’t even have a choice.

“Saruhiko…”

“Don’t.” Saruhiko was tired of the reassurances and stuttering fear now, they’d used it all up, and it was time to actually put things into motion, no matter how annoying it was. He turned to Misaki, expression unfeeling and sharp, and he saw the redhead glare back. It wasn’t in anger though, more like…solidarity.

“Come on, we sh—”

_“Come play little monkey~”_

Saruhiko choked, stumbling back on the path until he was against the door, which he now realized had closed all on its own. Misaki rushed towards him in concern, reaching out to steady him with a gasp of his own.

That voice. It couldn’t be.

Saruhiko’s entire body was stiff, and it was like he couldn’t remember what he was doing all of a sudden, his mind only telling him to run and hide. Just like all those years ago…

Saruhiko shook his head wildly, trying to clear his thoughts while he clutched his chest, willing himself to calm down.

_Stop. Stop._

“Oi Saruhiko! Saruhiko! What’s up?” Misaki waited for Saruhiko’s breathing to get under control, not backing away until he was sure Saruhiko was back to normal. “Hey…what happened?”

Saruhiko slowly stepped away from the door as he struggled for balance.

_Maybe…_

“Did you hear that?” Saruhiko’s voice sounded foreign, like a child’s. “There was a voice…”

_If you could even call it that._

“Um…”

No. Of course Misaki hadn’t. Saruhiko was only being delusional, it would happen on occasion, though it was less frequent now that he was an adult. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, and he reasoned with himself it was all fine, he was imagining things because of the stress.  “Never mind…let’s go,” Saruhiko breathed out, calming himself down as he stepped forward, Misaki’s face still full of uncertainty, and the redhead stayed close behind as they walked.

_Right, it’s all in my head, it’s all—_

“Actually, it’s weird Saruhiko, but just now,” Misaki said softly, cutting through the wind and tension. “I thought I heard my mom’s voice.”

Saruhiko could only hope Misaki was just hearing things too.

 --

 The crystal clear pool beneath them gave a violent shift as the two beings watched Saruhiko and Misaki, and for once Mikoto might’ve been thankful for the lack of sound on their level, because Munakata was pacing up a storm.

“Munakata,” Mikoto sighed, sinking further into his seat as he watched the boys in the pool fight against the winds of the wasteland. “It doesn’t mean—”

“You should know better than I what it means,” Munakata huffed, stopping in front of his partner with an unimpressed stare. “Based on your experience after all.”

“They could be hearin’ things…”

Munakata stressed was never good, he knew this himself. It probably would end up being more detrimental in the long run, and he forced himself to regain rationale. The man stopped, peering into the pool again with scrutiny. Munakata had seen the journey unfold for many centuries, had witnessed people fail and succumb to unspeakable things each time, it had almost become routine, no matter how dreary and cruel it sounded. But he felt uneasy in this instance. Things weren’t making sense…

“People don’t just hear things down there,” he informed solemnly, willing Mikoto to see reason. “You know that.”

“Mm,” the other replied, bowing his head in a way only Munakata could read. He hated bringing up painful memories for Mikoto, and considering how bad a mood it put the other man in, he tended to avoid it. In this case though, it was rather necessary to talk about.

“It couldn’t be…not for the first trial.”

“Dunno, ‘m not surprised,” Mikoto replied, kicking his feet up in an attempt to get relaxed. Munakata knew better though.

“You’re not concerned for the short one? I know you’ve taken a liking to him,” Munakata hummed, willing Mikoto to respond genuinely. “After all, if I am correct, he’s about to do what you failed a—”

“And the moody one? Heh, you got a favorite too,” Mikoto shot back, but he kept his voice slow and dry all the same, still avoiding Munakata’s concerns. He couldn’t stop the frown from settling on his face though, and he turned to Munakata, who looked between him and the pool with clear apprehension.

“I’m right, and you know it,” Munakata stated. “It’s the mausoleum.”

The trial which had ended Mikoto’s chances of returning to the mortal world, centuries ago. Munakata admitted, it was by far one of the hardest challenges he’d witnessed out of all the possible ones, and usually it came last, or towards the end, right when people began to feel confident or hopeful.

Starting out with such a thing…it didn’t obey the usual laws.

Mikoto nodded, glancing to the water before reaching down, putting a finger into the smooth stream until he was seeing a more bird’s eye view of the scene below him. And sure enough, Saruhiko and Misaki were headed straight for a very familiar structure, and Mikoto grunted, meeting Munakata’s gaze straight on this time. His eyes reflected nothing pleasant.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole  
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole


	3. Epitaph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot another chapter I managed to get out before school starts ha  
> I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Big thanks to EmeraldWaves for reading this over, like seriously, this fic would be nothing without you and ilusm <3

_“Misaki! Help!”_

Those were the words echoing in Misaki’s head as they walked.

It was his mom’s voice.

It was so familiar, the same comforting sound, crystal clear even with the fierce wind and its whispered nature. It re-energized him, brought him back home if but for a moment. Memories of warmth, of his siblings' laughter, the smell of his mother's cooking…It all ran through him as if he were drinking hot tea in the winter, flooding his senses as he felt someone wrap him in a soft blanket, enveloping him, and he thought if he looked over, his mom would be smiling at him as he dozed off in comfort...

The feeling was so strong, the images so vivid, he wanted nothing more than to chase it.

Misaki was ready to face whatever was ahead, itching to get back, to get on with it. And now he was about to. They'd been walking for a while, but Misaki knew something was about to happen, and he was ready. Maybe it'd be hand to hand combat! Or monsters he had to fight! His mom's voice was probably a distraction, something to throw him off...

Misaki smirked triumphantly to himself.

_Yeah right!_

If anything his mom's voice would help him, make him stronger! Misaki was doing this partly for her after all. 

_"Misaki..."_

Oh...right...

There was one thing…

Something about it, felt weird.

At first it had been such a nice surprise to hear the voice, and the feeling of comfort was all Misaki felt. Now though...

The voice was a whisper, but there was a strange, wispy quality to it occasionally, almost distorted in a way, as if the bleak, condemned environment had poisoned the goodness in her voice.

Misaki shuddered despite himself, and the feelings of home and coziness were stripped away whenever the voice would sound like that, making him feel as barren as the land around him.

The landscape surrounding them was all marsh, a sickly looking swamp with too many puddles and dark mud, so black it was practically liquid asphalt. It smelled horrible, like sewage and...he didn't know what else, it just smelled like rot.

Once, when he was little, he'd come across a dead rat on the side of the road. It had been slightly daunting, since it looked as if it'd been hit or mangled in some way. It had scared him, but more than that, it had disgusted him. He’d thrown up. The smell had been awful, but it was nothing compared to this.

Misaki tried to sidestep the muddiness when he could, afraid he'd sink into it. The trees and fallen branches seemed to be doing that after all, falling into the mud, slowly disappearing into nothingness.

The trees...they were another thing which creeped him out. They didn't grow very high. Probably because the winds were too strong, and their roots were nowhere to be seen, drenched in the black gunk. The branches were twisted and cracked, and as he and Saruhiko continued to walk, they seemed to inch closer to the path, like they were caging the boys in.

Despite the dread and tense atmosphere, it wasn't what currently worried him.

Sure, he'd heard his mother's voice, and it was strange and eerie, but...

Saruhiko was hearing a voice too. A different voice, and it didn't seem good...

Saruhiko was in front of him, flinching every few seconds as they walked through the bog, head darting around every which way. He walked sloppily, not the usual lazy or swift nature Misaki had seen before. It was as if Saruhiko were drunk or...had broken something, his steps sliding and dragging into the mud with loud, wet smacks.

He'd never seen Saruhiko so stiff.

Although, given the creepy place they were in, Misaki sort of understood.

Plus, if Misaki was hearing his mom crying for help, maybe Saruhiko was hearing someone close to him, and like Misaki, was thrown off by it.

Saruhiko's expression though...

It had been so scared, and seeing the usually calm Saruhiko look almost...childlike, had the terror washing right over Misaki again, drowning him in heaps like the mud.

Maybe if he could clear things up...

"Hey Saruhiko," Misaki finally spoke into the strained atmosphere, and despite the gasp Saruhiko made, it was as if everything else had halted. Misaki jolted from it, from the feeling of being listened to by….something else. "U-um..."

Saruhiko sighed, and Misaki could barely see the taller's hand shake as it came up to push his bangs out of the way while he turned to face the redhead. Had Saruhiko always looked so worn out?

"You still hear it right?" Saruhiko's voice was uncharacteristically ominous, deep and sedated. All Misaki could do was nod.

As if to emphasize the exchange, a stream of hushed, indistinguishable whispers flew through the air, carried by the blustery wind.

"Saruhiko..." Misaki said, subconsciously walking forward until he was closer to the other. "What are you hearing? For me it’s my mom, and she's asking for help."

Misaki figured it was better to know about each other for this, since whatever was out there seemed to be keen on using the voices against them.

Saruhiko looked hesitant to answer, and at least that was more familiar. Saruhiko was mysterious, interesting, but mysterious. Misaki had been getting him to open up gradually, but for the most part, they knew nothing about each other.

Misaki didn't understand the other's closed off nature, but he knew Saruhiko was a good guy, smart too, and Misaki couldn't help but feel weirdly drawn to him. It was as if, they were supposed to be doing this together.

Saruhiko's gaze shifted between Misaki and his own muddied shoes, debating with himself before his expression finally seemed to show surrender. "Technically," Saruhiko began, face scrunching up in discomfort. "It's my father."

Then Saruhiko's face twisted a bit more, like he'd stepped in something wet, and he stiffly turned to continue walking forward in the direction of where the whispers had been coming from.

_His dad..._

Misaki nodded to himself as he followed Saruhiko. It made sense, Saruhiko was probably worried or...feeling antsy like Misaki. It wasn't easy to hear a loved one in panic, and since Saruhiko seemed so bad at expressing emotion, he was probably hiding his concern. It would've made Misaki smile, if it weren't for the fact that another stream of disturbing whispers carried through the air.

They were stronger this time. They screamed and breathed into him, and he turned around frantically. It felt like they were surrounding him, hidden but _there,_ striking him with harsh blows of sound.

The mud sloshed under their feet, and Misaki almost reached out to grab Saruhiko's coat from behind. The taller had stopped, frozen with his hands over his ears as the voices grew louder, the echoes too agonizing.

Coupled with his mother's voice cutting through them, it was too much. The warmth was gone, only the distortion was left.

_"Dear..."_

He saw Saruhiko jolt at something too.

The stream of jumbled voices...he could hear children too, he was sure. And all the while he continued to turn and dart his eyes around in agitation, and he wanted nothing more than to reach for Saruhiko, reach for something that would make his head stop spinning.

Misaki couldn't think. 

The whispers were so loud.

The trees were closer.

Were they actually moving?

He could hear twists and snaps.

The whispers, Saruhiko's footsteps...

Crack, another break, crack...

Misaki screamed when he felt his foot snag, sticking to the ground and causing him to fall. That, coupled with the overwhelming noises, caused Misaki to continue yelling, convinced something had grabbed him.

He kicked and clawed at the sludge of the floor, breathing ragged as the soil dirtied his shoes and legs in the struggle, some getting under his nails as he pulled at it.

He heard Saruhiko run to him, grabbing him by the shoulders roughly. "Misaki! Misaki! Calm down, you're caught on a branch!" Saruhiko's voice managed to overpower all the other harsh sounds, and Misaki looked up at him in fear as he managed to pull up a mired hand from the mud and grasp Saruhiko's sleeve, smearing the dirt there.

_Nonono no way, something grabbed me, something—_

Still breathing hard, Misaki looked to his feet, only to see he was fine. There was an oddly twisted branch wrapped around his leg, and he figured he must've walked into it, distracted by his thoughts.

Something about the realization didn't seem foolproof though, and Misaki angrily kicked the gnarled branch away, watching as it sunk into a puddle nearby. "What the fuck...I didn't even see it..."

Misaki looked at Saruhiko in a daze, and the taller didn't seem much better.

His eyes were so tired, and his hands were still shaking from the force of his effort to block out the noises. The hair at the sides of his head was sticking up at odd angles, parts pressed down too flat, like Saruhiko had been pulling at it during his attempts to shield his ears from the painful sounds. Saruhiko practically dropped to Misaki's side.

The taller moved, with great effort, to inspect Misaki's calf. Saruhiko's fingers were cold and smooth as they grazed the flesh gently. "You're alright, a few scratches," Saruhiko spoke as he glanced around suspiciously. "Does it hurt?"

_Fuck, how lame..._

Misaki didn't feel embarrassed though. Saruhiko wasn't even teasing him, he was staring solemnly as the tree branch sank completely out of sight. No, nothing felt normal. "It doesn't, it stings a little but, what the hell?" Misaki breathed out, and Saruhiko shook his head. No answer.

The path ahead of them was still clear, if not a bit sullied with patches of mud and water on the slick cobblestone. Ahead of them, past more broken trees, there were stones that began to litter the sides of the path, fading off into the distance along with what seemed to be a tall, looming structure, hidden in the shadows of the bog.

As they stared ahead, the whispers seemed to carry from the same direction, assaulting their ears. They were a little clearer, still jumbled, but Misaki could hear the screams and laughter contained between the words.

Misaki wouldn't back down though, he'd fight whatever was there. Even without a weapon, he felt prepared to unleash his rage, his fury, whatever it took to get him out of such a grim place and onto the next challenge.

Saruhiko's eyes narrowed as he looked towards the building in the distance. "Looks like that's where we're headed," the taller said, his voice regaining a bit of the annoyance from before. It was a comfort. Before Misaki knew it, he had those eyes on him again, those stunning blue ones which tried desperately to keep everything hidden. Misaki stared back, feeling the strangest urge to take in the other's handsome face, thinking maybe, had they met differently, he'd be embarrassed by having Saruhiko so close...and maybe even weirdly happy for whatever reason.

Now though...

Saruhiko sighed, brushing his hand over the small cut on Misaki's leg one last time before sighing, the tone of his voice uneasy when he finally spoke. "Come on."

Misaki couldn't help but swallow, accepting Saruhiko's hand when he reached it out to help Misaki up. Saruhiko was being so compliant.

_He must be as scared as me._

They start walking, and Saruhiko lingered a bit before separating their clammy hands.

_We can do this._

Misaki nodded, making sure to watch his footing this time in case of another 'accident.'

They reached the rocks eventually, and the path became a bit trickier to navigate as they hopped over stones and crevices.

The noises got louder and louder, nearly deafening as they got closer.

_We can..._

"Saruhiko," Misaki said, almost as a last thought as they got farther down the path. The taller turned to him, flinching again from what Misaki figured was his father's voice.

_"Misaki? You're almost here!"_

Yeah...

Saruhiko noticed Misaki's apprehension too, and his eyes narrowed.

Something told Misaki deep down, even as he tried his best to push the grim feeling away, that it was now or never.

"No matter what happens, thanks for doing this with me."

He meant it too, and his voice probably betrayed him, sounding shaky and afraid despite all his confidence up to that point. But he had to say something...

Saruhiko's eyes widened, but he didn't click his tongue, or even try to push the thanks away. He gestured to the spot beside him.

Misaki jogged to it, and they walked side by side for the rest of the way.

\--

The whispers were deafening now.

Did they even count as whispers anymore?

They wouldn't stop either, they were screeching and crying and speaking words Misaki still couldn't make out as he and Saruhiko stood in front of  _it_.

If they thought the building looked threatening before, it was menacing up close.

It was enormous, a stone structure with stained steps and intricate walls of designs and etchings. It looked old, like it had been grabbed out of some long lost time and been dumped there, mistreated until all the brilliance and grandeur had been ripped from it.

The door was large, and it looked like it slid open easily, no latch could be seen.

Regardless, something felt contained behind that door.

Misaki stared at it, along with the giant pillars it was situated between as he plugged his ears. They, along with the section of the roof they were holding up, did not look solid.

"What is this thing?" Misaki yelled, thrown off by the sheer size of it. The atmosphere was another thing entirely. The air was suffocating, the unease and nausea much more pronounced now as they stood in front of what Misaki could only guess to be their first challenge. He had a headache from all the noise, but even plugging his ears wasn't helping. Nothing soothed him, nothing made the voices lessen. He saw Saruhiko pinch the bridge of his nose, stumbling as he desperately tried to think through all the distractions.

"It's...a tomb," Saruhiko said, as loud as he could, but for once, he sounded unsure, and Misaki threw him a confused look as he held back bile in his mouth. "Well, I've never seen one this big. And honestly, who needs a tomb in the afterlife? There's no need to bury bodies."

_Huh, you're right._

Misaki and Saruhiko shared another strained look, and Misaki nodded, not finding any other words. He didn't need them, he probably looked as worried as he felt. He hoped Saruhiko could feel it all though, all of Misaki’s emotions, so the taller could know they were on the same page.

Misaki had already said what he needed to.

_Time to go..._

They nodded at each other, and they pulled open the door.

All whispering and sound stopped.

\--

"Yours doesn't look so good," Mikoto breathed, but he wasn't smiling, or bragging even. Far from it.

Munakata looked away from the pool for but a moment to stare at his partner. Mikoto's posture betrayed his relaxed tone, and well, Munakata honestly knew him better anyways.

Mikoto had his elbows on his knees, leaning forward in his seat as the boys stood in the mausoleum.

Mikoto sounded worried for both boys, and Munakata sighed. He'd learned long ago, when watching The Return, it was better not to argue with Mikoto about his desire to hide his anxieties. It was a sore subject for him, and after seeing so many gruesome failures, it was for Munakata as well. Nowadays, they acknowledged the slim odds, only allowing themselves to hope conservatively.

This time was a bit different though. Both beings had taken a liking to the young men, and knowing what they were walking into, Munakata and Mikoto were both apprehensive.

"I could say the same for yours," Munakata replied, his expression almost sullen. No, there was nothing particularly intriguing about what they were about to see.

It was their least favorite trial, for personal reasons, and it had ended many. The mausoleum held no corpses, but it was overflowing with the ghosts of whoever dared enter it. It was simply where everything went to die.

Hopes, ambitions, love.

"First up," Mikoto muttered gruffly, and Munakata could tell even from the simplest shift of the man in his seat, that Mikoto was angry. "Guess it was too good to be true."

"You shouldn't lose hope so quick," Munakata mused, almost to himself as he watched the boys begin walking further inside.

"You dunno what it’s like Munakata," Mikoto replied with a grim ghost of a laugh.

Ah yes.

Munakata frowned. He wasn't a fan of Mikoto using his own experience against him, it was a strange reversal from the old days. Yet, he supposed, Mikoto was somewhat correct. "I've watched people do this many a time though Suoh, I believe if they focus, they will be successful."

But Mikoto just kicked the water, leaning back into his chair, hands clenched and stiff in his lap.

\--

It wasn't only that the voices had stopped. Everything had, even the wind. Utter silence filled the area.

The inside was...empty.

It wasn't anything like Misaki had expected. It was...ruins, like everything else had been. There were no creatures or demons, not even fire. Saruhiko looked around suspiciously, critical, and probably as disbelieving as Misaki was.

And yeah...there was another thing, something else both boys seemed to notice as they took in the space. There were no tombs, no caskets or grave markers.

It was creepy and misleading, and Misaki could feel it still, like he was being stared at and mocked. He scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably, turning around, expecting to see something jump out,  _anything_. But, there was nothing.

Despite the lack of monsters, the tomb hadn't completely lost the intimidation, with its high ceilings and weird crevices, the ground looking practically sunken in at some points.

Some of the stone floor would stick up awkwardly in some parts, making jagged spikes on the floor, as if an earthquake had ripped through it. It made the ground uneven, and both of them stumbled many times before realizing they had to pay closer attention to their footing.

Columns did their best to support the damaged roof, and Misaki tried to avoid touching them, or even touching the walls, fearful of the weak stone.

"It's probably best we stay close," Saruhiko said, walking slowly along the walls. "It stretches pretty far."

"Huh?" Misaki looked forward as best he could given all the columns and debris in the way, only to see the stretch of hallway disappear into a blur in the distance.

_Fuck, it is long._

It wasn't so long it would take them hours, but if they had to be careful along the way to get over the strange inclines and collapsed boulders, it would take some time.

Misaki almost offered to run ahead; he was agile and fast, he could jump over things and scope out how everything would be. A few scratches weren't anything to cry over, if he  _did_ manage to be too reckless, which he knew he could be.

But then again...

Something about the unnatural silence and thick air...

He didn't want to leave Saruhiko to himself for too long. And maybe, just maybe, Misaki wasn't too fond of being alone here either.

"Yeah," Misaki said, joining Saruhiko on the far side of the tomb, against the wall. In width, the main hallway was about forty feet, and there were various side rooms which connected to it. "Whoa..."

"It is intricate," Saruhiko observed, and he cautiously peeked into a side room, on guard at all times. He was let down though.

Empty.

Saruhiko sighed, and he almost seemed frustrated through his relief. The tension, the sickening air, the feeling of being watched, it all wouldn't go away.

_What the hell?_

Misaki crossed his arms, following Saruhiko into the first room.

It wasn't much different, but...

Etchings. They were...on the walls.

Misaki's eyes flew to them.

There were images pressed there, carvings and molds which resembled familiar, everyday things.  _Too_ familiar.

Misaki wasn't sure if his brain was just reeling from the noises from earlier, or if maybe he was more homesick than he realized, but he could've sworn the carving...was his mother's house.

No, he knew.

It was an old, simple looking place, and at first glance it could've been any house in any humble neighborhood. But it wasn't.

There were his mom's flower beds, the tricycle which had been handed down through the three siblings, the oddly patched up hole in the door from the time Misaki had kicked through it in a tantrum...

All the unimportant, specific details from his childhood, they were etched in stone right before him, as if relics from ages ago. It didn't work together, the art medium with the modern image it was depicting.

Misaki would've done it in watercolor, in oils, in anything which would display the life and joy he recalled when he thought of his home. Not the bleakness of cracked concrete.

There was more rubble at his feet, along with shreds of fabric which seemed to once hold grayscale paintings. There were brush strokes and cut off pictures on them, and he picked one up as he vaguely registered the clinking of broken glass behind him.

Withdrawn and queasy, he looked behind him, seeing Saruhiko walk along the opposite wall, facing it. There were broken mirrors lining the entire surface, some so cracked nothing could be seen. In one of the less shattered ones, Misaki could make out what seemed to be Saruhiko's back in the reflection, staring off somewhere.

_What is this...?_

Misaki didn't know what to think, turning back to the carvings in front of him. Something felt  _wrong,_ not like previously, where things had felt too tense or eerie. No, this was different, it was  _fucking_ different.

They had chosen to come into this room first, but it felt like they'd been  _lead,_ and the itch on the back of his neck had returned. Something was watching, and it was done waiting.

A light giggle tore through the air, but it was a man's this time, maniacal and wheezy, and Misaki thought he heard Saruhiko's breath catch.

Misaki's head was still spinning, he couldn't move, much less turn around to see. He stared at the fabric now wadded up in his hand, and nearly choked when he realized it was from one of his works. The end of a crow’s wing. Busted.

"Saruhiko," Misaki finally managed to rasp out, heart rate way too fast to be normal, loud as drums, and he felt any breath might be his last. "Something's not—"

And as if it had finally struck him, as if his stress flooded mind had finally caught up; he froze.

How had he seen Saruhiko's back in the reflection, when Saruhiko hadn't been facing away from it?

"Saruhiko!" Misaki screamed, spinning around to stare at the other as Saruhiko's face eyed him in worry. "The mirr—!"

The figure jumped from the glass, and the rest of the object shattered as it pounced on Saruhiko, and everything was set back in motion.

The wind howled.

The ground scraped as Saruhiko fell against it.

The laughter, that  _fucking_ laughter. The room was flooded with it.

But fuck...

That  _face._

Saruhiko yelled, a sick yell as he became tangled on the floor with what Misaki could only assume was his father. The resemblance was too striking.

But no, the face was too cruel. There was no way...

Saruhiko screamed as he held his father's wrists back, keeping those long, large hands from wrapping around his neck.

Saruhiko forced his head up in a blind panic, knocking his father in the head with an obscene thud, forcing him back enough to stumble to his feet for but two seconds before falling again.

The man, Saruhiko's father, or the thing that looked like him, stood up.

Misaki's blood ran cold.

He'd never seen something so messed up in his life.

He was a ghostly thing, grey and shadowy, but not transparent. His eyes were cruel and shining red, and his face was twisted in such a painful manner Misaki had to wonder if it was being held by needles, the smile joyful in the most uneasy way.

No, Misaki took it back, he looked nothing like Saruhiko.

The man staggered forward, body contorting like being held by puppet strings as he advanced towards Saruhiko, who was biting his lip so hard from quivering Misaki was sure he saw blood.

"M-Misaki—"

Misaki stumbled, and he felt a chill behind him.

_Don't say my name like that...Saruhiko..._

_"Monkey, it’s all alright now! I'm okay, see? I can walk again, we can play together."_

Saruhiko's back hit the wall.

_Fuck!_

Misaki gasped, running to help pry the man off Saruhiko as the man pounced, but something grabbed him by the collar from behind, forcing him back so hard his shirt ripped and his skin tore when he hit the rough cement.

A cry erupted from his throat.

And as he cradled the arm he had fell on, looking up to see the barbarous form of his mother as Saruhiko was being taunted nearby, he knew it wouldn't be his last scream.

_"Sweetheart, you're here. I'm so happy to see you! Don't worry about your friend,"_  her cold, high-pitched voice said as she hoisted him up by the collar, and Misaki met her eyes. He wanted to yell, wanted to cry like a little kid and fall into his mom's arms. Maybe it was all a sick joke, this wasn't the challenge, Saruhiko wasn't screaming.

His mom wasn't glaring at him like that.

_Mom..._

_"You weren't going to be of much help anyway."_

Misaki whimpered, and next thing he knew, he hit the opposite wall with so much power, it collapsed into a storm of dust.

Perhaps more painful though, was the fact the man's laughter wasn't alone anymore.

\--

Misaki wasn't able to dodge the jab at his ribs, and he screamed, falling back onto the floor, and he rolled to avoid more kicks, more agonizing hits to his body.

He was grasping his arm as he stumbled to stand, quickly kicked over again with a crunch.

He was bleeding. A lot.

He'd been tossed around for hours it seemed, running aimlessly forward, but his mom, she wouldn't  _stop_.

Misaki had pleaded, had cried, had begged like a child, but she wouldn't stop.

He was whimpering, voice desperate. "Mom I—"

_"It's useless dear, you're such a disappointment, I have no choice."_

She clawed at him, shredding his clothing and barely missing skin.

Anytime he tried to fight back, he failed. He'd get in a hit, and she'd get in five more.

Sometimes, he'd remember the good memories of his mother, and he'd hesitate, and that would be all it took.

A punch. A hard, bone cracking kick. Hits against walls and pillars.

At least Misaki was dead, or he was sure he'd be immobile by now.

The bruises weren't the worst though, not even the bleeding or the aching ribs, no.

It was the words, the goddamn  _words._ They kept coming, ripping into him.

_"What have you gotten yourself into Misaki?"_

_"Foolish boy, thinking you could do anything worthy."_

_"Why even put yourself through this? So you can go back to your failure of a life?"_

_"We've always been happier without you."_

_"You should just stay dead."_

And Saruhiko's screams...he could barely tell them apart from his own anymore.

He could barely see the taller now, could only hear every slap and laugh and—

_"Monkey, did you forget what I told you? No one wants you."_

_Crack_.

_"You're doing this for nothing, your little friends, you're nothing to them."_

_Stop, that's not—_

_"You've always been defective, a reject,_ " the voice paused, broken by laughter, crudely spilling into the air. " _You're not even good enough dead!"_

As Misaki avoided more punches, he tried his best to keep his eyes on Saruhiko.

To his side, he could make out the other boy, badly dodging every advance of his father like a scared child, hitting the walls because he wasn't watching where he was going.

Fuck,  _fuck,_ Saruhiko looked  _awful_.

Misaki watched from his crumbled state on the floor, watched as Saruhiko curled in on himself, clutching his knees to his chest while his father delivered more blows.

_Leave him—leave us alone!_

"He—!" Misaki coughed, the kick to his face, making his head spin and his stomach churn.

Misaki spat blood as he saw Saruhiko clutch himself, bringing his hands up to protect his skull, but it was no use, his father went for his knees instead.

_Sto—!_

_"Pay attention Misaki!"_  His mother shrieked at him.  _"Be smart for once!"_

She clawed at him, drawing more blood. Her touch was like acid. Her demonic hands, which were rough and grimy, sported untrimmed nails that cut into his flesh.

"I-I am smart!" Misaki screamed, throwing a blind punch which managed to land, stunning his mother for a bit. It didn't stop the laughs. "A-and my mom misses me! You don't know a fucking thing about me!"

_"Oh, I know everything about you. I know how you're a failing artist, that you failed out of school, that you never should've been bo—"_

"Shut up!"

_"-in the first place. You don't fit in, you never have."_

"I'm not a failure! I can do it! I was so close!"

His mother was cornering him, and he was letting her, he couldn't stop shrinking in on himself, beginning to clench his fists and shake terribly, wanting her to stop.

It hurt. It hurt, because they were all things he'd considered before.

_"And then the universe decided that you didn't deserve to get any closer."_

Misaki cried out in desperation, willing anything, anyone to help him.

He wanted to get away.  _Needed_ to.

If for no other reason, he had to get himself and Saruhiko away from these  _things_.

Misaki could only think of one thing to do, and with all the strength he could muster, he barreled forward, knocking his mother into a nearby pillar, enough to rip a screech from her, and he ran in the direction of Saruhiko's father's taunting voice.

He ran through various side rooms, eventually coming to the main hall. It was in even more ruins than before.

_Where are you Saruhiko? I need help!_

Misaki ran, breathing harsh and raspy as he was vaguely aware of his mother calling out to him, asking where he had gone.

As he ran, he could make out blurred figures in the distance.

_Saru—_

Saruhiko looked like he'd been dragged through the mud.

His clothes were tarnished, the fabric ripped, and he was trembling terribly.

His skin was bruised, and his hair was matted to his handsome face, clumped there with rubble and dirt.

Misaki knew he didn't look much better, but it didn't stop his heart from clenching at the sight.

Saruhiko was now crouched behind a wall as his father paced around it, like a shark circling its prey, playing with him, more hatred and cutting threats spilling from his mouth.

There was no way Saruhiko's father was really like that. But why was he so scared then?

Saruhiko was distrusting, moody, cynical.

But he was also smart, calm, rational, and so many other good things Misaki probably didn't know about yet.

_"You can't even help your friend, just look at you. Pathetic."_

_Fuck you._

Misaki rushed forward, and seeing nothing to throw or use as a weapon, hurled himself into the specter with all his might, sending him tumbling into the dust a few feet away.

He didn't wait to see if he recovered.

Misaki grabbed Saruhiko's hand, hoisting him up and feeling his heart clench when Saruhiko didn't even resist or make a sound, limply letting himself be pulled.

Misaki's heart was racing, and he tightened his hold on Saruhiko's cold fingers.

They were both drained, Misaki knew, and he was running out of steam himself.

_I want it to be over._

His thoughts were all over the place. Half of him begged him to give up, but the last remaining vestiges of survival instincts told him to at least create distance.

It was exhausting though, and on top of it all...

Saruhiko was sluggish, clumsy, and it got to the point that as they were running, Misaki had to go behind him and begin  _pushing,_ forcing him forward while the calls for them got closer from behind.

_Fuck, we have to hide._

Misaki panicked, using the last of his energy to look for a spot, somewhere blocked from view, and he took his chances with a side room, darting into it and sighing in relief as he saw a crumpled mass of stones nearby.

It created a bit of a barrier, and it was blocked by a taller wall, one which seemed to have once been the side of another internal room.

"C'mon Saruhiko," Misaki whispered, almost to himself. It wasn't like the taller was responding anyways.

He pushed Saruhiko down first, making sure they were both caged in by the rock.

Misaki's pulse was going crazy, but he didn’t have time to calm himself down. He was coughing from the physical exertion, trying not to be too loud.

They couldn't stay there long, no doubt his mom was looking for him, and they'd be found and...

Misaki didn't want to think about it, and he looked down to the bleeding gashes on his arms as a reminder.

_What are we gonna do?_

Misaki looked to Saruhiko in a panic, hoping to see him snap out of it, think up a plan or at least look scared too. Misaki needed the other to come back, for that calm, cool gaze to return, to make him feel better, not alone. The wind continued to crash against his eardrums as he desperately stared, waiting.

_Saruhiko, just look at me, please!_

But no, Saruhiko's eyes were empty, dull somber, his entire being echoing dread and hopelessness as he leaned against the decaying wall like a rag doll, boneless and...and...

_"You really think those people miss you? My monkey is so silly sometimes."_

Misaki shuddered from the voice, shaking both from the anger and the agony, because the expression on Saruhiko's face looked as if he'd been kicked in the stomach at his father's words. Worse, it didn't even look like he minded.

_No. No, not—_

_"Misaki, why bother with this dear? I don't even want you back home."_

Misaki choked.

_That's not, it's not true..._

_Is it?_

He was reeling, and he couldn't hold it back anymore, it was too much, way too fucking much. The pain felt like a burning sear on his heart.

He bawled; finally, he was finally falling apart.

The hot tears rolled down his face finally, practically spilling out as the wind around them made his eyes burn. He gasped, but it got caught in his throat due to the crying, and he had to cover his mouth roughly with both hands to prevent the obnoxious sobs from slipping out. He was practically retching. His own fingernails dug into his face from the force of him trying to keep in the sounds, and he was sure they left scratches. Fuck, he couldn't breathe.

_I need help, I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to. I don't want to._

_"Misaki? Where are you? Please come out, you're hiding again, like you always do."_

Misaki moved a hand shakily to grasp the wall beside him, crouching down until he was near Saruhiko.

Saruhiko; who'd actually been dumb enough to believe in him.

Misaki felt the depressing thoughts consume him as Saruhiko stared into the distance, body limp and trembling as his father's laughter mixed horribly with the cruel coaxing of Misaki's mother. And meanwhile the tears continued, making a mess of his hands and face as he forced his screams to stay silent.

But what was even the point?

They would be found, they'd lose. It was inevitable wasn't it?

_Maybe it's for the best._

No more taunts, no more hits, it would all be over.

Who cared if he didn't make it back to his life? His life was a failure, he'd always known it, deep down.

_I'm so stupid..._

Misaki was about ready to walk out into the open, drop to the floor, tell the thing that looked like his mom to do it, anything to make her stop. To make Saruhiko's father stop.

This illusion of his mother was right. His real mom...she had a family still. He was nothing but her failure of an older son from a different man, struggling and barely visiting. She was absolutely right. His mother probably did think those things, would say those things if given the chance.

_I'm useless. I can't even get past the first trial. I let everyone down. I'm sorry Minoru, Megumi, everyone...I can't do it. I can't do anything. Mom is righ—_

_"I knew you couldn't do this."_ The sweet, shudder inducing voice cut through his thoughts again.

Everything seemed to freeze, and for once the wind wasn't so loud to him, just for a split second, things seemed to clear. The tears continued to spill freely, but he didn't bother wiping them away. He only stared wide eyed into the distance of the marred ruins.

_That's not...mom._

It wasn't possible.

Why was he listening?

No. It was all wrong. His mom sounded  _nothing_ like that. His mom was loving and sweet and only chased after him to encourage or comfort him. She was always there for him, and she'd never tell him to give up in the middle of something, especially not with a friend alongside him.

Misaki moved his hand from his mouth, breathing unevenly as his mind settled.

To think he'd actually let himself believe that  _thing_ could be anything like his mother. Misaki felt like retching.

The guilt was all consuming.

He'd let himself forget his own mother.

Not again.

_Never_ again.

Still...

The wind went on, swirling violently around them, making it nearly impossible to hear anything without someone screaming, but yet the cruel voices seemed steady and cutting, getting across even with the wind and its blows.

He couldn't do this alone, they had to get the fuck out of there, and they could figure out the rest later.

How though?

Saruhiko was a wreck, they both were, but if there was any chance of escaping, Misaki had to snap Saruhiko out of it too. They weren't far off either...

Misaki could even make out land in the distance, right beyond two large pillars, which themselves looked unstable and coated with grime and...he didn't want to think of what else. The remnants of those who'd almost made it. The exit. How far had they been beaten and pushed that they'd managed to cover so much ground?

He trembled, but he was so used to it by then.

_It's right there..._

If right there was a good sixty yards away.

It didn't matter, maybe they could get there...maybe...

He didn't even care what could be on the other side, not when he felt as if everything in his heart was eating him alive, burning him to a crisp instead of energizing him with the fire.

Misaki looked to Saruhiko through the tears, rubbing his eyes until Saruhiko was more than just a blurred outline.

Saruhiko hadn't taken his lifeless eyes off the floor that entire time.

"Saruhiko stop it!" Misaki yelled, and his voice was raw as the screeching wind picked it up and drowned out half of the words. The taller only looked off in a different direction, as if he didn't even know where Misaki's voice was coming from before his head flopped uselessly to the side, those tired, once brilliant blue eyes finally meeting Misaki's. It was almost more than he could take. "I—"

Then everything seemed to start shaking, the some of the walls and pillars around them began to collapse along with the remains of the mausoleum's roof. Misaki didn't know what was happening, but he did know their hiding place was no longer useful, the walls nearby crumbling, a shield no more.

He spotted the figures in the distance, both turning to see the two boys huddled lamely together. Those eyes....they had Misaki wanting to vomit once more. Misaki, despite all his creativity, could not figure out how he'd ever describe those eyes and the emotions trapped inside them. They were simply everything eyes should not be.

It was the breaking point.

Misaki kicked it into gear, throwing himself in front of Saruhiko on the floor, shaking him mercilessly, anything to get him to wake up.

"Saruhiko! You have to get up!" Misaki yelled in the other's face, glancing frantically between him and the stalking figures, all too aware of the crumbling building around them. "This place is falling apart! Come on!"

But Saruhiko wouldn't budge, just fucking  _looked_ at him, and Misaki wasn't going to stand for it anymore.

_"I bet my little monkey has already given up."_

"Shut up!" Misaki screamed out, pulling Saruhiko forward before slamming him back against the crumbling wall. "Saruhiko if you don't fucking get up, you're going to end up in hell, this piece of shit version of your father will win! Don't you understand?!"

The ground quaked, and he felt the cold again, the presence of those demons rapidly approaching.

_This has to work, it has to work._

He gripped Saruhiko's collar with the strength to nearly tear it.

"You said we would do this together! And I know you have people you care about! They care about you too! They have to, they  _have_ to!" Misaki was begging, but he didn't doubt his words. Saruhiko was grumpy, unreasonable, and as cynical as they came, but he was smart, and amazing, and with the way he looked when he remembered those people...

"When everyone you love dies and goes to heaven, you won't get to see them, you'll never see them again Saruhiko if you sit here, so stop looking at me like that and get up!"

Saruhiko's head hit the stones behind him roughly. Misaki felt like collapsing, body starting to fall...

_Get up...get..._

Then Saruhiko made what could only be described as a choked sound.

His eyes opened wide, the last ounces of humanity and color returning to them in an instant, and he gaped at Misaki as he dry heaved.

Saruhiko looked almost childlike with his scared expression, but it was  _something,_ it was emotional and  _alive_. Tormented.

It shook Misaki to his core. It was enough to put him on his feet, more stable. Saruhiko was back yeah...but Misaki knew, knew it deep in his gut, he never wanted to see that face again.

Saruhiko stared at him for a few more harrowing seconds, innocent and afraid while the blue irises shimmered in irritation from all the biting wind and congested dirt in the air.

And then it was gone, as if it had never existed, returning to a long lost time from Saruhiko's past.

The taller's face morphed into one of anger, a new expression to Misaki as well, but not totally unwelcome. Saruhiko's eyes...they were menacing.

The taller practically growled, looking behind Misaki at what the redhead could only guess were the specters, and as if Saruhiko's brain had kicked into full gear, he seemed to process their predicament and the crumbling environment instantly before jumping to his feet, causing Misaki to finally spin around and face the things which would surely be in his nightmares forever.

They were close, at the threshold of the room, staring right at them.

"Get the fuck away from us," Saruhiko practically snarled, looking off to the side to a nearby, unstable column.

_Right!_

Saruhiko didn't wait.

Exchanging a glance with Misaki, the redhead caught on in an instant, and proceeded to run frantically to the column along with the other to push it over, both of them running on pure adrenaline as they summoned all their strength. The last of it...

They were successful, and the column collapsed, resulting in more stone from the roof to fall, spreading rubble and dust up into the air. The column, while unstable, was still decently sized, and seemed to successfully block them from view for but a moment as it fell, allowing them to run.

They took off, not even hesitating to join hands as they sprinted towards the ending pillars in the main hall, fighting against the wind and rough terrain.

Misaki felt the wind sting his cheeks, and the dust made his eyes water, but he ran, ran like he never had before, and he hung onto Saruhiko's hand like a lifeline. In a way, it was one.

Misaki may have been faster than Saruhiko, but the taller was more agile, dodging falling obstacles and leading them past jagged rocks as the exit got closer and closer.

Misaki dared not look back.

He was sweating up a storm, the remains of his tattered shirt sticking to him as he ran, and his heart was working full time, all senses on alert as he heard the footsteps behind him, so  _close._

His own footsteps were like thunder against the rapidly deteriorating floor.

Perhaps the worst part of it all, was he didn't think he could bear to see the thing that looked like his mother, be crushed under the collapsing building.

Misaki forced the tears away.

When they reached the door, they jumped forward, hearing the loud crashes behind them erupt in a symphony of rumbles and cracks as the ground jolted. A dust cloud enveloped them, and Misaki clutched Saruhiko so hard he probably bruised the other's hand. 

They heard demented screams, but for once, they didn't belong to themselves.

His mother's scream...

Looking behind him at the tomb, one last time, he saw his mother and Saruhiko's father, crushed by stone.

The ground shifted.

And then he was falling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time but hopefully it didn't disappoint! Thanks for reading and I appreciate comments <3 
> 
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole  
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole


	4. The Atlas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm here lmao   
> This chapter is another shorter one sorta, but I didn't wanna overwhelm with more scenes, so much more stuff to come next time ;)  
> In truth this chapter's title makes like no sense but I was listening to Atlas by Shannon Saunders the whole time and wow it fits ok ; ;
> 
> Anyways lol, I hope you enjoy!!

Saruhiko's hands were bleeding, or at least, he was pretty sure they were. He couldn't see through the cloud of dust which overtook his vision as he slid down a wall...or maybe it was a hill? It didn't matter, all he knew was that it was cutting his hands up raw, the material scraping up his skin, and some parts piercing him with their jagged, broken edges.

His feet couldn't get any leverage either, his feet sliding uselessly along the surface, more of the wall crumpling off as he fell.

What was it made of?

He could hear vague cracks as the destruction above got farther away, and there was something else....

Misaki.

Misaki was yelling, pained. And it didn't take long for Saruhiko to notice he was doing the same, but he didn't dare loosen his grip, no matter what his brain was telling him, trying to get him to relieve the pain.

Maybe eventually his hands would become numb to it.

He had no idea where they were falling, but if the first trial had been any indication...

His chest gave a painful squeeze, but he wasn't even given the opportunity to reflect or even think. The only thing he processed was the burning in his now raw hands, and the fact that he was slowing down....

Saruhiko gasped, digging his feet more firmly as he slowed, and below, as the dust began to clear, he could somewhat make out the bottom. It was still a fairly decent drop though, and there was no way he could jump it. Plus, who knew what was even down there...

He looked above him, hearing the scraping of sneakers along the wall as the shadow of Misaki began to slow too, stopping just below him.

They couldn't see each other clearly yet, and it wasn't Saruhiko's biggest concern at the moment. His breathing was going haywire, his lungs aching as they attempted to filter clean air through the cloud of dust. He was wheezing, and his eyes teared up from the irritation, his thoughts and senses still going a mile a minute.

He hadn't had time to catch his breath from the run out of the tomb, nor had he even been able to calm down from the fucking assault and beating he'd been put through.

His heart clenched, the memories were still flashing in his head. His childhood, that man, everything was too much, and he felt like he was drowning in the negative thoughts. He needed a break.

But it didn't matter. It wasn't like this impossible journey would give them much opportunity for rest, he should've expected as much.

He coughed, his fingers shaking as they continued to grip the fragile surface, and he forced them to dig in deeper. The stabbing pressure made him cry out, guttural and nearly unrecognizable.

He heard Misaki grunting nearby, straining with the effort to stay in place.

There was a distinguishable crushing sound below, one which sent the now familiar dread shooting down his body, even through the pain. It came from down at the bottom, way too prominent to be his imagination, and it only enhanced the effort in which he hung on.

"Misaki?" He kept his voice a whisper, almost as if something in his gut told him it wasn't the time to make any more noise. He desperately fought against the cries wanting to tear from his throat as his hands trembled and locked up from the exertion.

Once again, it was as if a hush fell over everything. The environment was aware, eerily so, of where they were. As the dust began to finally disperse and fade, he heard rubble and pebbles falling, echoing softly down the wall as bits of it fell off.

No more voices, it was a relief, but...

"Saruhiko!"

"Sh!" Saruhiko couldn't afford Misaki making too much noise, they were both still out of it, and not to mention tired. Saruhiko especially, much to his reluctance to admit.

He still felt lost, like he was a kid in a bad dream, and when he'd wake up, Niki would be there, real,  _alive._

_Focus._

"Are you...okay?" Misaki asked, his voice quieter, but still scared, still not recovered.

No. Not at all.

"It doesn't matter right now," he replied instead, and he winced as he felt blood drip down his arm. "What...is this?"

"I was hoping y-you knew," Misaki replied, his voice fragmented by grunts of pain, and Saruhiko heard the crumbling of something probably digging into Misaki's skin as he spoke.

It had been a dumb question on his part he supposed. Of course neither of them knew, what was there to know about this place other than it was unpredictable and harsh? Hell, even Munakata hadn't known a lot about it.

He felt another sharp edge prick his hand.

"Ugh, what is this?!" Saruhiko whispered harshly, squinting as the wall in front of his face came into view.

And then, he really wished he hadn't asked, or that he was blinded again by dust, by anything really.

He heard Misaki give a choked gasp, but his own voice was stuck, rendered useless as his hands clenched involuntarily into the surface, and it made him sick.

In fact, he did dry heave several times, unable to let go, but not willing to stand it.

Bones.

Human bones, animal bones, all kinds. Broken, twisted, and brittle under his hands. No wonder they'd hurt him, they were so fragile now....so old, they'd broken with the force of him sliding down, pressing into his palms.

He bit his lip to keep in the panicked sounds which wanted to be let out, and as if to mock him, his hand clenched, breaking through the side of a skull.

Well, at least his hands didn't feel as bad now.

Saruhiko wanted the feeling back though, anything to distract him.

The air was thick, still misty but clear enough to see, and part of him wanted to find Misaki's eyes, those brilliant pools of light which would pull him out of the shock like they had before, but he couldn't do it, couldn't chase safety. He was trapped by the vacant stare of the dead.

"S-Saruhiko..."

There was the noise again from below, louder,  _strong_. It was a stomping sound, like someone or something heavy was walking, carefully, as if searching...

"Just," Saruhiko cut him off, voice tense and shaky, and he couldn't pry his eyes off the bones, all the hallowed out eyes and shattered jaw bones. He felt his something at his brain tug at him, willing him to remember those brief seconds of pain which he'd experienced just before waking up dead. "Just...don't scream."

He heard Misaki's strangled inhalation of air, and felt like reaching out, hanging onto something slightly familiar.

As he was beginning to blink quicker, to start having enough clarity to look somewhere other than the bones, his foot slipped.

He began to fall again, the nerves in his hands screaming as he slipped, pushing the shards further in, but he managed to recover quickly, ignoring it in order to focus on not reaching the bottom and meeting whatever was down there.

Luckily, or as lucky as he could get in his situation, he didn't fall very far.

He gasped, and with really no choice, he pressed himself into the wall, feeling the broken edges tear and hang on his clothes, and as disgusting as it was, he was grateful they got a grip, holding him. Saruhiko's head was level with Misaki's waist, a few feet from him, and the redhead sighed in relief, glaring towards the bottom.

Saruhiko decided to do the same, curious if he could make out anything or not.

It was mostly foggy, and the skull wall stretched all the way into the nothingness, almost endless, and Saruhiko didn't doubt the floor may have been covered in bones as well. It was possible to see shadows however, blurred edges, boulders and rocks which had most likely fallen from above.

And something else.

Something he desperately hoped he'd never see clearly.

It was moving.

It had two, large front legs...or limbs, and it moved along the edge, circling below.

The walk, no, the  _prowl,_ dragged, almost as if the creature’s mobility was cut off at the torso, moving around the bones and debris beneath it. The thing, whatever it was, was shrouded in tatters, or some sort of torn cloth.

Even from above, Saruhiko could tell it was huge, and that it wasn't quite right looking, like it was an experiment gone horribly wrong.

It was all he could make out, but it was enough to freeze him, to terrify him in a new way.

His 'father' had destroyed him yes, but it was something he would've expected, it was familiar and agonizing in a completely different way.

This was the unknown, something out of childhood horror novels or cheesy monster movies, both of which he'd never cared for. They'd never managed to scare him. He could tell when the effects and CGI were cheap, the plots and scares would be predictable, and it all would feel so dull and unoriginal.

This though, it was real, and he didn't have the vaguest idea what to expect. He only knew they had to avoid it, get away somehow.

Misaki's body was tilted a bit awkwardly, so it was obviously difficult for him to look down and see what Saruhiko was seeing, but he still trembled, anxious as he tried to turn his neck to no avail. "W-what the fuck is it?"

Oh right, Misaki could still hear it, every growl and snarl.

"I don't know," Saruhiko said, willing himself to look away, even though a wave of paranoia crept through him, as if by turning away he would seal his fate, and whatever that thing was would jump up out of nowhere.

Maybe the only reason it hadn't, was because the fog was obscuring its view as well.

The thought wasn't comforting.

He knew they had to figure out a plan, creep away, and no matter how hard he thought about it, there was really only one option.

"We have to go down there..."

"What?!"

Saruhiko promptly shushed Misaki, and he heard the being below halt in its movements, listening.

Misaki shut his eyes tight, pursing his lips after realizing his mistake.

Couldn't afford too many of those....

Then the creature was walking again, a bit less predatory this time from what Saruhiko could see, and he thought maybe it didn't fully know they were there.

The thing below was following a pattern, and Saruhiko watched it, analyzing every movement so he was sure. It walked slowly along the wall, paused midway through, and continued, eventually circling away into the distance before it returning forty five seconds later to repeat the process.

There was a gap, a small, almost insignificant one, but it was a chance.

Part of him didn't know why he was being like this, so hopeful in the face of the impossible, but something about what Misaki had said...

_"When everyone you love dies and goes to heaven, you won't get to see them, you'll never see them again Saruhiko if you sit here!”_

 There was a way out of this. If they could get to the bottom and run during the gap....they'd have a head start. They could sneak away, as long as they were careful...stealthy...

Saruhiko tried to ignore the part of him which doubted that ability of theirs, given what had already transpired, but at this point, he'd have faith in Misaki. Even then though, there were lots of unknowns...

The bones would make noise if they slid down too fast, which would make the time gap useless, because the thing would be able to hear them. And then the pessimistic side of him joined in, claiming that even if they could make a break for it, who knew how fast the thing could run.

He ignored it, for once, going back to mapping it all out.

_Right, we'll have to take our time moving down slowly, preferably when that thing is farther away, so it won't hear..._

It would take a while, because even though the drop was not too far, it was high enough it would take a good amount of times to clear the majority of it. Saruhiko figured they could make it a few feet each time...

He did his best to lean his body forward as much as he could without slipping, trying to keep his voice even quieter as he relayed everything to Misaki.

The redhead looked at Saruhiko as if he had gone completely mad.

"Saruhiko we can't! T-that thing will—"

"We can't stay on this wall forever Misaki, it’s either sit here injured, or get away." Saruhiko glared, trying to be reasonable. Granted, reason from him probably wasn't what Misaki wanted, given Saruhiko had been corpse-like and lost to him previously, but....

He grimaced, this time to himself.

Saruhiko had been no help to Misaki, had left him alone to endure who knew what, getting beaten up and yelled at by the ghost of his loved one, all because Saruhiko was too weak to confront a man who died long ago...

He thought he'd been over it, but these things apparently never stopped, never left him, and he hated it.

They'd almost both lost...and it had been his fault. He couldn't even resort to his younger self, the one who would push all blame on others without acknowledging his own issues. Truthfully, he still had a problem with it, but at least now he could recognize it.

Misaki had pulled his dead weight up to this point, snapping him out of it, leading him, as if Saruhiko were a child.

It was only logical he pull his weight now.

"B-but—" Misaki glared at the wall, his face twisting in displeasure, conflicted. He knew it too, there was no other choice.

"Trust me," Saruhiko said, though he knew he could guarantee nothing, but he'd try, he'd try for everyone he left behind, and Misaki too.

The redhead's face softened, those amber pools reflecting fear and uncertainty. But well, they'd already faced horror beyond their comprehension, and had made it, supposedly...

He wasn't much for encouragement or faith in these situations, but maybe he was attempting to take a page from Misaki's book.

Just this once.

They exchanged a smile, both probably acknowledging it could be the last, and Misaki nodded once. "Let's go."

\--

The descent was tough, and Saruhiko silently thanked the fact he had been forced to exercise in his life, because the upper body strength was paying off.

They'd moved, nearly to the bottom, but it had taken what felt like hours. At least when he needed a break, his feet could somewhat dig into the wall, allowing him to slump. The muscles in his arms were burning, and with each new attempt at making it down, he heard Misaki wince and keep in his pained grunts.

Almost there...

The time gap came again, the creature passing them right below before heading off into the distance, and they inched down.

It was still foggy, too foggy to completely see, in fact it had gotten denser, but Saruhiko could somehow still perceive the thing, feel more of its being. When it walked, the ground shifted a little from the weight, it breathed so heavily, things got warmer the closer it was, and the low grumbles were more pronounced.

Saruhiko did his best to keep his breathing quiet....to not move or shift in any way.

He could make out it's shadow again, repeating the cycle, starting out at the far end of the wall, approaching them...

Saruhiko knew this next gap would be it, and he shot Misaki a glance to signal his intention to slide down and run. His heart was racing in his chest, and Misaki looked terrified, but still infuriated, like he was ready to try. The taller was beginning to heavily associate that trait with Misaki, the need, the desire to try his hardest no matter what the costs, no matter how seemingly foolish.

This time, Saruhiko would try too. Had to.

Just a few seconds...

The creature stepped under them.

One step.

A pause.

The heat rose up from it's breathing, and Saruhiko's skin burned.

Another step.

Saruhiko's leg twitched.

The creature was walking away.

Three steps.

Just a few more...

Now.

They both jumped, hitting the pile of bones collected at the bottom in a frenzy. They rattled violently, the noise deafening due to the previous silence.

Misaki jerked his head around the area, and Saruhiko was already pushing him hard in the nearest direction. No time. No time to look, no time for anything.

He heard the creature's steps halt.

"Misaki go! C'mon!"

Something in Misaki must've went into auto drive, because he did go,  _fast_. He ran, ran into the fog, forward into it, away from the wall. Saruhiko grabbed onto him, just like before, trusting him. They had no way of knowing what else was out there, but anything was better than what was now chasing them rapidly.

The thing's breathing was loud, raspy, and Saruhiko pushed himself even harder at the sound.

Their feet sunk into the bones with every step, making the pace harder to keep, but they kept going, not daring to look back. 

Saruhiko heard the thundering steps which were blindly following their own.

No way, no way was he facing that after all the shit they'd gone through. He wouldn't lose here.

Everything was spinning, Saruhiko didn't know where to go, he was running with no destination, and he could only go so much longer...

\--

"There's really nothin’ we can do Munakata?" Mikoto's voice was more rigid, and Munakata knew it was the quality it took on when he was panicked. It was rare, but he was familiar with it.

Mikoto wasn't even sitting anymore, now standing stiffly over the pool. It was the most engaged Munakata had ever seen him.

"You know we're not allowed to help directly,  _Suoh,_ " Munakata shot back, continuing his more rapid pacing around the pool.

Honestly, those boys couldn't even get a moment of peace...

Munakata could admit when he was worried, but truthfully, Mikoto knew the rules as well as he did.

There were things that were permitted of them, but usually people who did the Return weren't of very high character, and both he and Mikoto were less willing to assist them. It had been quite a while since they'd lent a hand, but even then, Mikoto couldn't actually be suggesting...

" _Directly,"_ Mikoto repeated, and he scrunched up his face in determination. Munakata couldn't help but stop his aimless walking. "But it means we can do somethin' yeah?"

As if to emphasize the point, Mikoto raised his right arm, and Munakata watched as tendrils of red light wrapped around it. The splashes of red, hot and barely controlled, had Munakata raising his arm over his forehead.

It had been so long since Mikoto had used his powers...

The flicks of searing heat bounced off his arm, but Mikoto looked calm, natural.

"What exactly do you plan on doing?" Munakata watched as the other simply walked a little ways away, raising his hand.

Munakata found hope rising in him though, despite his worries. If Saruhiko and Misaki could just find a place to hide...

Mikoto stopped, and in front of him, a rip in the room's atmosphere began to appear, causing fog to partially spill into the room.

Mikoto summoned a portal, and turned. "Whataya think?"

\--

Saruhiko and Misaki stumbled, and the taller's thoughts were still racing a mile a minute. Saruhiko pushed Misaki up and forward, willing him to not stop, _keep going_.

Misaki made a low noise, a tired one, and Saruhiko realized how exhausted they both were.

Too much running, no breaks.

His legs were going to fall off, and that thing, whatever it was, was close behind, looking around.

Thankfully it could see about as well as they could. Meaning…it could barely see.

Sometimes they would stop, hold their breaths as much as they could, so it would get confused and distracted if just for the moment, so they could cover more ground.

It would eventually be futile, Saruhiko knew it. They'd give out soon, their energy was so damn low.

Then they'd be....who knew? Could they even be eaten? They were already dead.

It wasn't an amusing thing to ponder.

He didn't have time to anyways, because soon they must've run too fast over a hill, both of them slipping down it until they were breathing erratically at the foot. Bones fell over them, and he was vaguely aware of Misaki heaving beside him.

Fuck.

"Saruhiko..." Misaki's voice was raw, barely there due to all the effort. "I can't do this anymore."

Saruhiko's eyes widened, and he realized he wasn't only referring to the running, but to the journey as a whole. He could tell from the desperation, the weakness in his usually lively voice.

The last trial had obviously drained him, made him question everything, and it had done the same for the taller.

But they hadn't exactly had time to recuperate.

"I..."

"Like I really fucking can't," Misaki said, grasping Saruhiko's hand with a weak, teary smile. Saruhiko didn't like it at all. "I'm just...glad we got out of that tomb okay? I'm glad I got us out but...I'm not gonna..."

_Don't say that. I'm supposed to say that._

But that was just it, it wasn't about him. He supposed, everyone had the right to be hopeless.

"I...I can't either," Saruhiko breathed out, and he could hear the creature stalking around at the top of the hill, searching. It was frustrating, he'd finally decided to go through with this, to try getting back to his old life. But his body hurt so much...

Saruhiko fell to his side, grip tightening on Misaki's hand, and the redhead went to lay next to him, breathing hard. Was this really it? After all that shit?

Part of him didn't care, his eyelids felt so heavy...

The only reason he was keeping them open was because Misaki's face was inches from his own, framed sickly by the bones on the ground. Saruhiko almost wanted to take off his jacket, let Misaki rest against that instead.

Those amber orbs were dull again, and yeah, Saruhiko really didn't like it, but he didn't have the effort in him to wonder what it meant. What would it have been like...to meet Misaki in real life...?

"You know Saruhiko..." Misaki whispered, swallowing when his voice came out cracked.

"Hm?"

"You have nice eyes...they're really blue..." Misaki's smile got a little wider, and Saruhiko laughed a bit. What a peculiar observation, one totally expected from Misaki.

"...So do you."

As the creature tore through piles of decay above them, looking for them, Saruhiko tensed, when out of nowhere, a portal opened at their feet.

They gasped and shot up out of pure shock, and aches ran through him. His body really wasn't in good shape after all this...

The rip in the air was glowing red, a sliver above them, and as Saruhiko squinted, he could make out a ratty armchair on the other side of it.

A figure stepped through.

Saruhiko glared, even in his current state, the face didn't offer him any comfort.

Mikoto kneeled in front of them, one leg still on the other side of the portal. His eyes were almost...sad, and Saruhiko didn't understand it. Didn't trust it.

What was he going to do? He doubted the devil was there to give them a pep talk.

"Mikoto-san!" Misaki's face lit up a bit, but he was still weary, still drained.

Mikoto looked to the redhead, smiling gently. "Seems ya could use help." Mikoto raised a hand, and something similar to fire erupted from his fingertips effortlessly.

Saruhiko scooted away, the reaction instant, his eyes widening at the sight.

He'd never cared for fire, it was wild and chaotic. It wasn't good for anything, and it certainly wouldn't help.

Of course Misaki was enthralled though, eyes glowing in amazement, and Saruhiko couldn't help but be dumbfounded.

"Misaki..." Saruhiko tried to warn against it, but while the taller scooted away, Misaki only scooted closer.

"Mikoto-san, what...?"

"Just take my hand kid," Mikoto grunted, voice urgent, the red dancing on his fingertips. "If you guys are gonna give up, don't do it 'ere, get some place safer." The man reached out his hand, eyes finally drifting to Saruhiko. "You too."

"No way! I'm not getting anywhere near you!" Fire burned. Fire destroyed. And he'd done enough of that in his life. No way was he going to willingly touch the hand radiating the heat of a full on forest fire.

"C'mon Saruhiko! Maybe we can find somewhere to hide!"

"Mm, 's alright. I won't force him," Mikoto breathed out, his deep voice rumbling, and nearby they all heard snarling. Mikoto's eyes flashed red. "What 'bout you?"

Misaki swallowed, turning to look at Saruhiko in a last ditch effort to get him to rethink his decision. He wouldn't.

Misaki nodded. "Okay. But you'll help yeah?"

_Help. With what exactly?_

Saruhiko wanted to snap back, call him an idiot, ask how exactly Misaki needed help taming a fire when they were supposed to be finding somewhere to hide.

_"You said we would do this together!"_

But in the end, the look in those eyes was too desperate, begging him, and Saruhiko realized he wouldn't say any of those things. _Try. I said I'd do that remember?_

Right.

Saruhiko nodded stiffly back, and Misaki breathed in relief.

The redhead straightened his posture, looking back to Mikoto and his outstretched palm, eyes ablaze as the red splashes bounced off it.

There was a second of hesitation, and then Misaki let it fade away, reaching forward.

Misaki took Mikoto's hand, and soon his body was glowing, the heat and power bursting around him, off of him, and Saruhiko shielded his eyes from the intensity.

The flames suited Misaki, and it may have been the first time Saruhiko didn't want to scoot away.

\--

Misaki had never felt so energized, so  _alive_.

He felt warm, powerful. The red was comforting and bright, even if it wasn't as intense as Mikoto's.

Speaking of...

Mikoto backed away, face calm. "I can only give a bit, but it'll do. Good luck."

Misaki beamed at him, more cheerful than he'd felt in what seemed like forever. It felt as good as looking into Saruhiko's eyes, working together.

"Thank you!"

Mikoto nodded gently, before he backed away, disappearing into the meeting room once again, and the portal disappeared.

Misaki raised his fist, watching it glow and clear the fog directly in front of him. He watched as Saruhiko's eyes widened, some of the color returning to them, and Misaki felt a surge of pride run through him. "We can see now!"

Before Saruhiko could respond, there was a loud crash a few feet from them, causing skulls and femurs to fly into the air.

_Shit_.

The creature had found them, and now Misaki could see it clearly, staring right at him. He was glad the warmth coursed through him, because otherwise, he would've been frozen.

It was a huge, gangly thing. The fur matted to it had chips of bones and tattered clothes stuck to it, and the skulls beneath its claws shattered easily. Misaki remembered being amazed as a kid by the sight of a butcher knife, by how big it was. This creature’s claws made those knives look positively childish.

It’s face though, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to tell anyone with clarity what it looked like. Not even his memories would be reliable, and he was thankful Saruhiko couldn’t see it.

Sinister, wrinkled, distorted. In some places the skin was pulled taught, painfully so. It was just…everything a face was not supposed to be.

Saruhiko was staring at the ground, not letting himself look to the beast as he trembled. "What does it look like?"

Misaki breathed shakily, not taking his eyes off the creature as he hauled Saruhiko to his feet, ready to run again. One last rush. "You really don't wanna know, run!"

Misaki, though unaccustomed to the power flowing in his veins, shot forward into the beast's face, momentarily blinding the creature as they fled.

He was running on fumes with his sprinting, and for once, Saruhiko was dragging him forward. It was a bit better at least...

Now with the light, it was easier to see around them, the red illuminating through the fog several feet ahead.

Misaki could hear the screeching in the distance. They had to get out. Fast. But...where...

"Misaki, shine a light!" Saruhiko pointed towards the sky, and Misaki was too on edge to argue. The pained screeches died down and turned to angry ones, and he figured the beast had recovered.

A wave of red came from his palm, revealing the skyline, and....

"Rock formations," Saruhiko whispered, running forward before even finishing the sentence. "Which might mean caves. C'mon!"

To think they were going this far just to give up...

_Give up._

He couldn't believe they'd almost done that. After everything...

Misaki shook the thoughts away. No, he had to focus on getting somewhere safe first, regroup.

The first formation they came to had a steep hill going upwards, and it was rocky, difficult to climb but there were definitely hollowed out areas in the rocks above, Misaki could tell.

They exchanged a glance, worried but resigned. Who knew if they had the strength to make it? Even with Misaki's energy given to him by Mikoto, it would be tough.

There was still the unspoken thought from them both: What if that thing could climb after them?

It wasn't far behind now.

No time.

Saruhiko decided to go first, that way if his arms gave out and he fell, Misaki could help.

The rocks were black and jagged, but they weren't as rough or cutting as the bones had been, and they scaled it quickly until they reached the first half, the main goal to get as far off the ground as possible.

The sandy surface of the rock irritated his previous wounds, and he couldn't afford using his power. They'd be easily spotted higher up...

The formation shook as the creature threw itself against it, the beast running to another set of structures nearby. Misaki slipped a bit, but recovered, making sure Saruhiko had done the same.

They could hear crashing in the distance, the sound of the beast aimlessly searching, throwing itself into less stable formations and collapsing them with almost no effort.

It didn't know where they were.

Misaki had never felt so thankful.

Well, sorta.

They were high up, and it was making him a bit queasy...

"Misaki!" Saruhiko called down. "You there?"

The redhead snapped out of it, reaching up to tap Saruhiko's ankle, a reassuring touch. "Keep...going."

Saruhiko nodded, grabbing the next ledge as Misaki urged him up. Almost...

Misaki couldn't help but admire how agile Saruhiko was, even through his exhaustion, he pushed up and over various rocks at once, almost flowing freely along the ledge.

_Saruhiko is amazing after all..._

Misaki was grateful they had gotten to meet. He'd make sure to find him later too, when they got back to their lives.

Strange, even in the short time, he couldn't see himself not knowing Saruhiko.

The caves were small and cramped, but there was enough room for two people to sit semi-comfortably.

They both all but fell over, boneless and relieved.

In a way, they'd just dodged a trial. Well, at least for now. Eventually they would have to go back down there...

The thought sent shivers through him.

For now though...

Rest.

Misaki watched as Saruhiko sat up oddly, leaning against the wall with a wince. He looked roughed up, yeah, but no less appealing.

His face had scuffs of dirt on it, his clothing was torn a bit, discolored from the dust and grime from both the tomb and the cliff. It didn't help that the ground of the cave was cold and sandy, little clumps of dirt laying about.

Surprisingly, Saruhiko's glasses had staying almost spotlessly clean.  _Guess that's what happens when you get an angel's gift._

Misaki scooted closer, sharing his warmth, and he was happy when Saruhiko didn't move away.

The silence spread between them as they heard crashes in the distance.

It was tense, more because they probably didn't know where to start.

_What was that?_

_Are you okay?_

_What are we doing?_

It was too much, and Misaki brought his knees to his chest, unsure.

He wanted Saruhiko to say something,  _anything_.

"I..." Saruhiko began, but the words died on his lips as he slumped back some more. Those blue eyes, which Misaki realized with some embarrassment that he'd admitted to liking, were apologetic. Almost as if Saruhiko was struggling to get the 'sorry' out.

_Sorry? For...oh._

It was true, in a way. Saruhiko kind of blanked out on him in the tomb, and Misaki had been all alone. Saruhiko couldn't have been able to help it though, with his father...saying those things...

It didn't matter anymore.

Saruhiko was helping him now, he'd proved he wouldn't let Misaki carry them both on his own.

As much as Misaki wanted to smile at the thought, the topic of the tomb had his stomach churning.

His mom...

The guilt, which had only gone away due to all the action, had come back tenfold. His mom would've never said those things to him, would've never hurt him. If she were there, she'd wrap him up in her arms and tell him he could do it if he just kept going.

No, he'd never think less of his mom again, and he didn't want Saruhiko to either...

"That was pretty fucking awful," Misaki breathed out, sitting back. Their shoulders were touching, and Misaki thought it was nice, the feeling of another human being. "I'm sorry about your dad Saruhiko, but you know, my mom...I want you to know, she's not really like that."

Saruhiko seemed puzzled at this, his mouth frowning. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well...my mom is actually very sweet and supportive, she'd never hurt me," Misaki said, and as the guilt began to diminish, he felt himself smiling, the warm feelings and nostalgia coming back as he thought of his childhood, of his old home. "Those things the...ghost said, all of it was crap. My mom would never talk like that."

It felt as if that blanket was around him again, the smell of his mom's cooking flowing through his nostrils...

He knew this time it wouldn't leave him.

"I guess...that's good then," Saruhiko muttered awkwardly, and Misaki quirked his head a little. "Since she's waiting for you and all."

Saruhiko offered the first smile, and Misaki was gone.

The notion hit home, but Misaki would keep in his tears until he was actually back in front of his house, waiting for his mom to come outside and hug him.

_Yeah, and I'll make sure she's not waiting long this time._

Something tugged at him though. What about Saruhiko?

"But hey, what about you?" The question caught the taller off guard, and Misaki backpedaled a bit. "I mean, what was your dad really like?"

Misaki figured it would make him feel better, to remember their loved ones as they actually were, not how this dumb journey had twisted them. It certainly had helped him...

But...

Saruhiko stilled a bit, smile falling almost instantly. Misaki felt something in that gaze, and he didn't know why, but he felt like reaching out in some brainless attempt to pull the words back in, stop himself from ever saying them. "What?"

Saruhiko's eyes always stayed the same, Misaki had began to notice this after sometime. If Saruhiko was in his right mind, he kept his face impassive, unfeeling.

Now though, it was a bit easier to tell he was conflicted, upset. Eventually the struggling expression faded, and Saruhiko clicked his tongue, and it morphed into more of a defeated sigh. "I hate to disappoint you, but... _that_ man, really was like that."

Misaki didn't think he was hearing right. "Um...what?"

"You heard me. He used to say messed up shit to me all the time, it's whatever now." Saruhiko shrugged. "A lot has changed. He hasn't been in my life for a long time, and that's fine by me. But, I'll give this place credit, that was a pretty authentic representation."

Misaki's eyes widened as he remembered all the cruel taunts, the sick laughter.

There was no way, someone like Saruhiko had grown up with someone like that. It wasn't fair, and Misaki almost regretted not paying closer attention when the ghosts had been crushed.

How could a parent treat their kid that way?

He didn't understand it completely, but he felt the urge to comfort Saruhiko rise up inside him, but didn't exactly know how to go about it...

"Well, I'm glad we kicked his ass then!"

Saruhiko quirked a brow. "I don't know if crushing him with a pillar in a last ditch effort to escape is exactly 'kicking ass,' but maybe you have a point." _Ah, is that a smile?_

"’Ch, well whatever! You know what I meant," Misaki huffed, but a grin was building on his face, and he felt serene for the first time after all the shit they'd done. "And anyways, you're not anything like him."

_You're amazing_. But he couldn't say it aloud. For whatever reason, it made him nervous. Saruhiko seemed to make him feel a lot of things.

Those blue eyes were startled, and the taller looked away awkwardly. It might've been....cute.

_Heh, guess he's not used to being complimented._

"You don't know me  _that_ well," Saruhiko reasoned, continuing to avoid Misaki's eyes. Which was strange, because after all, Misaki knew he liked them.

The memory brought heat to his face, and it wasn't the red aura. Misaki cursed himself,  _I always mess myself up._

"A-anyways, I know you well enough!" Misaki stammered out, and Saruhiko squinted at his flushed appearance. Shit. "Or...I'd like to."

Misaki didn't think he'd ever get tired of Saruhiko's surprised looks. They were somewhat rewarding.

But even then, the silence was making his skin prickle, and he wanted to scoot closer...

_What's wrong with me?_

Time to do what he did best, change the subject really obviously.

"Can you believe we almost gave up?" Misaki did his best to laugh, but apparently it was still too soon, because it sounded more awkward than anything.

"Mm. It was close."

"Lucky for Mikoto-san huh?" Misaki regretted the question when Saruhiko glared. Right. Saruhiko didn't like him, but he could at least be appreciative...

"Hm, I guess," Saruhiko forced out. "Just be careful with the power he gave you, don't lose control."

"I won't! They're for protection anyhow..."

"Protection?" Saruhiko seemed amused, but still made a motion to move away when Misaki's hand began to light up bright red.

"Yeah," Misaki said, letting the heat die down a bit, but allowing the warmth to flood his system. "It's going to help us. And we'll help each other, same as always."

Saruhiko's face softened, and he moved back to sit closer to Misaki. Curiously, the taller reached out to feel the tips of Misaki's fingers, gasping lightly as the heat faded.

When it did, he didn't pull away, only rested his palm against Misaki's, the pact unspoken between them.

Misaki intertwined their fingers impulsively, not really being able to help it. It felt right, good. Saruhiko's hands were rougher now from the cuts, from the dirt and the effort. But they still felt natural and delicate against Misaki's calloused ones. Both the results of fighting together.

They could do anything, Misaki knew it.

"We won't let it happen again though, right?" Misaki grinned, as best he could, and Saruhiko returned it. "We won't give up! We'll get back, and then we can actually hang out for real yeah?"

He'd make sure of it. He'd see everyone, and Saruhiko would be there with him.

The taller nodded, fingers curling around Misaki's hesitantly. "We won't let it happen again."

Misaki grinned, bright and more alive this time. If Saruhiko believed, then he could do anything, and no matter what, he wouldn't let go of the other's hand.

The redhead huddled closer, letting his own thoughts consume him, hoping they'd be strong enough to face what was waiting for them soon.

\--

Munakata looked at the boys sadly as they huddled together, tired and overwhelmed.

At least they'd decided not to give up, but Munakata could tell their spirits had severely dwindled, even the shorter's.

There had to be something...

"We have to inspire them somehow," Munakata said into the quiet air, and Mikoto shifted in his seat behind him. "Words are pretty, but they need to actually be reminded of how dire it all is. They can't just be fighting for 'their lives,' but the quality they'd held..."

Mikoto made a disbelieving sound.

"You really think after all they've done, a pep talk is gonna help?"

Munakata stared solemnly at the pool, eyes squinting as the two boys sat together in the cave, the feelings of being lost and alone translating clearly even through the water.

They were probably worn out, broken in many ways, and they weren't even close to the end yet.

Their motivations and beings were drained, and Munakata reluctantly acknowledged Mikoto might be right in this instance.

But he did have an idea, a last ditch effort, but one he was sure would work.

They would make it through this, they only needed a more positive push for once.

"No, not from me at least."

\--

They'd been resting for hours it seemed, but he was still sore, Misaki's head leaning against his bruised shoulder. It was his only real comfort.

Misaki's hand felt light in his, warm, and Saruhiko felt his stomach twist, this time not in an undesirable way. He almost wanted to curse himself.

He knew what his reactions, and his thoughts about the redhead meant. They just weren't convenient, and honestly, they were frustrating.

Of course it had to happen here, on a hell's journey. Annoying.

He couldn't find himself regretting it though, which was even more baffling to him.

They'd been sitting there, either thinking to themselves or talking about useless things, things which no longer mattered.

What movies they liked. If they played video games.

He'd even had the pleasure of seeing Misaki's voice perk up happily when the topic of his art came up, and weirdly, it sent another surge of determination through him. _Seeing the things Misaki makes..._

Now though, they were content just sitting there, occasionally hearing something walking around loudly far below, a grim reminder of where they were.

They'd have to go back down there soon, confront that  _thing._

Misaki hadn't elaborated on its appearance, but Saruhiko could only assume it was horrific. What else was new?

He sighed, and Misaki's head shifted a bit, body turning more towards Saruhiko.

How were they gonna do this?

Before he could think more about it, a portal tore through the space in front of them. Luckily the ceiling was high even if the space was cramped...

Saruhiko tensed up immediately, not looking forward to another visit from the devil. He wasn't taking the power, no matter what he said.

But the portal was different this time...

It had cleaner edges, was but a sliver compared to Mikoto's messy one, and it sparkled blue, waves of the color spilling off it as a figure walked through.

Munakata.

He was instantly relieved, and Misaki shot up, bumping his head against the wall. "W-what the fuck are you doing here?"

"It's always a pleasure to see you as well Yata-kun." Ah yes, there was the same devious smile from before.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd stopped watching," Saruhiko said, fixing the man with a flat stare.

"I was simply waiting for the appropriate time to offer assistance."

"So, running for our damn lives didn't warr—"

"Yata-kun, you seemed to handle the situation just fine," Munakata replied, keeping his voice even.  _Really, who is this guy? "_ But it has unfortunately come to my attention that your spirits have dwindled."

Saruhiko scoffed.  _Well, duh. "_ What was the first clue?"

"I did advise you that this journey was intense and difficult, and no one has even completed it." Munakata's voice held no tone of 'I told you so,' despite his words. In fact he seemed a bit forlorn about the whole thing, glancing behind him into the meeting room. "But even still, I believe what I have to offer will help."

Saruhiko and Misaki exchanged a suspicious look. Misaki huffed to himself. "Mikoto-san already gave me some of his power, it’s—"

"What I have to show you is different."

"Show us?" Saruhiko stood up then, hoisting Misaki up alongside him. "What do you mean?"

Munakata may have been more to his liking, but he still wasn't completely trustworthy. Saruhiko couldn't help but be curious though, and honestly, what did they have to lose?

Munakata's smile turned serene, and Saruhiko felt himself approaching, along with Misaki. "Take my hand, and you'll see."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to EmeraldWaves for beta-ing this for me! You make this fic so much better I swear lol
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone! Again, comments and kudos are always appreciated ^^
> 
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole   
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole


	5. Apathy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I'm here!! lol. Sorry for the late update, but I hope this makes up for it! I hope you enjoy <3  
> Big BIG thanks to EmeraldWaves for beta-ing, u are the best <333

This fog was different from the one in the boneyard. It was less thick, and it faded away as quickly as it had consumed his field of vision. They'd followed Munakata, and instantly the world was hidden by the white mist, shrouding them. Misaki was confused, but he didn't care. Anything was better than being in the cave.

Though, having Saruhiko pressed against him wasn't too bad...

Misaki's body still ached, he was exhausted, and he didn't know how exactly he was even standing. It was weird to think he was still in his right mind after all the shit he'd gone through, but maybe he was just numb to it all after enduring the trauma.

He didn't know if that was a positive thing.

Misaki blinked rapidly as his vision became clearer, but the ground and...walls of wherever they were, still had fogged edges.

Saruhiko was beside him, looking around in confusion as Munakata watched them adjust. The taller stumbled a bit, slouching, making it evident that he too was just as out of it as Misaki. Misaki crossed the small space between them to offer what little strength he had, and Saruhiko accepted rather easily, leaning against him. The support on both their parts was minimal due to their drained psyches, but it was appreciated.

Misaki gave a small grin before beginning to examine their new surroundings.

It was like the room they'd woken up in, but...more infinite. In fact, he couldn't even make out a floor surface or walls, only unending smoke in all directions. It was like a new realm of some sort.

Weird.

"It has come to my attention that both of you don't know the full extent of what's going on back home, so to speak." Munakata's voice cut through the unnatural silence, and Misaki didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed. "Yes, you want to live again, and see your loved ones. I'm glad. Some reinforcement is in order though."

_Reinforcement?_

Misaki squinted, torn between being curious and anxious. Mikoto-san had helped them, so there should've been no reason to doubt Munakata, they did work together after all. Saruhiko liked him enough too...Plus, Munakata was an angel, so there was no real reason to suspect him. Despite it all, Misaki just plain didn't like the guy.

"What do you mean?" Misaki asked, and that clever smile was back, forming too slowly for Misaki's liking. Yeah, he didn't like him much at all. But, he was there to help, so he'd trust him.

"No need to worry, I'm sure this will be helpful for you Yata-kun." Munakata walked past Misaki then, nodding for Saruhiko to join him at his left side. Reluctantly, Misaki took his weight off the other's shoulder, allowing the taller to confusedly join the man. "Now, if you'd please step forward Yata-kun."

"Huh? Me?"

_Why?_

He really wasn't in the mindset to deal with this right now. On top of it, Misaki wasn't sure he liked how stepping forward into denser smoke sounded, especially with how he'd just come from a foggy wasteland with a huge...thing lurking about. But...Saruhiko was nearby, and the redhead could take care of himself, though his drained state hadn't exactly gone away...

His body still ached, and he was shaken up considerably, so if anything, he was at least thankful for the distraction. As long as it wasn't physical...

"Yes, as I said, it will be quite helpful to you," Munakata informed, motioning for Misaki to step forward, past him and Saruhiko.

Without much else to go off of, and a hesitant, but supportive nod from Saruhiko, Misaki did what he was told.

The wait, though only a few seconds, made him nervous, and he didn't know what to expect as the fog at his sides and feet began to swirl up and around him, obscuring his view once more. He could vaguely hear Saruhiko gasp in the background before the wind drowned him out, and Misaki closed his own eyes tightly as the sound grew louder and louder.

And then it all stopped.

Misaki wished he was used to that by now.

Sound gently began to filter back into the air, and he struggled to make out the noises. He was afraid to open his eyes, but for whatever reason, his body relaxed.

It was a strange sensation, and as everything around him became clearer, he found himself biting his lip.  _What_...

He could hear glasses clinking, drinks being poured, the hum of classy music in the back.

The same track he always would hear, every night, for years.

His eyes shot open.

The bar looked as it always did, elegant yet comfortable as the sunlight shone through the large windows. Misaki couldn't smell anything, but he could remember the scent he associated with Homra, his second home. The smell of old wood and faint whiff of cigarette smoke from outside...he missed it. The bottles of alcohol lined the walls, gleaming in the bright lights, organized as ever. The happiness hit Misaki hard, and he almost forgot he was dead, like it had all been a dream he'd imagined on his way to the bar, skating down the streets on his board while his music blared in his ears. It was too much for him, but he loved it, loved getting to see it again. It was hard to resist the impulse, the urge to rush forward and slump into one of the soft, red bar stools.

But there were people already sitting there, and man he must have been turning into a kid again, because the tears were already pooling in his eyes.

"You know, Yata would probably hate us right now," Akagi uttered, sniffling between his words. "Crying n' stuff like losers."

Misaki felt frozen, a gasp, one barely audible, passing through his lips.

There was a collection of half-drunk beer mugs littered on the counter, tissues from Akagi wiping his tears, and suddenly the sunlight coming in through the window was duller, less refreshing. The room felt grave and suffocating, given all the silent, tense young men seated around each other.

He'd almost forgotten what they'd all looked like, sounded like. Misaki swallowed thickly, and it was hard for him not to cry when he looked to Akagi's side to find Kamamoto, bawling his damn eyes out.

_You idiot, cut that out. I'm here..._

The sobs continued into the bar's air though, suffocating any good feelings which may have lingered there.

Too much.

Akagi crumbled again from the noise, putting his head down on the bar in an attempt to keep the sadness in. Misaki wanted to shake the two of them, tell them it was alright, he'd be back soon. But then his attention drifted...and it was even more crushing.

Everyone was there, but not nearly as lively as usual. Eric sat off in a corner, staring at a wall, not even participating in the drinking or the conversation. No witty remarks, no sly smirks, nothing. For once, Misaki wasn't too happy about that.

Chitose...seeing Chitose was a little harder. Misaki watched as the solemn man pushed his bangs back in frustration, taking another unhealthy gulp of beer as he wiped his eyes to keep any emotion locked away. His hands itched over his pack of cigarettes, frustrated and anxious. The only person which probably kept him grounded there was Dewa, slouched against the bar on the floor, head leaning against Chitose's calf.

Misaki had never seen Chitose cry before, or even hold it in for that matter. Usually the other was smiling or making crude jokes, not sitting sullenly. Misaki wasn't surprised though, Chitose did always try to seem tough. But seeing him like this...defeated and stone-like...he didn't like it.

"Y-yeah, that and h-he...he never liked when we drank this much," Kamamoto cried from his seat at the bar, not even indulging in the sweets laid out pathetically in front of him, most likely left over from the previous day's service. "I c-can almost hear the nagging."

A soft laugh was shared between those who weren't letting the tears flow, but it died into hiccups and sniffs, holding no joy.

"Yeah...I wish." Bandou seethed, pushing his glass away angrily. "Can't believe this, we should've—"

"What? He always walked home by himself," Fujishima answered sullenly from his spot on the couch, always the more reasonable of the bunch. "Yata would not want us to feel responsible."

"Right! It's not your guys' fault!" Misaki shouted, voice cracking at the end. His words of course, didn't reach the bunch, and Bandou seemed geared up to fight the stoic Fujishima, but the fury died before it could even come through. Instead it turned into soft sobs as he slumped onto one of the nearby couches, flinging his hood over his head to conceal himself more.

No, Misaki didn't like this at all.

"Y-yeah, he wouldn't want you to feel guilty," Akagi stuttered, his drink untouched, trying to force a smile. "He'd...h-he'd totally y-yell at you if you d-did."

Eric grimaced at the wall as Bandou laid down on the couch in response, and Fujishima stood up rigidly to stand beside him, offering some support to the other, who still insisted on acting stone cold.

Misaki had never felt more useless, not only because he wasn't there to save them from feeling this way, but because his own memory betrayed him. He knew his death must've been an accident, but if he'd been walking home, he'd been alone. It meant he should've been more careful, more aware,  _quicker._ Then maybe his comrades wouldn't be so broken.

He wanted to see them, laugh with them, take everything back. He hated the look on Chitose's face, Eric's silence, and the Kamamoto's stupid tears.  _All_ of their tears. His friends didn't deserve to be so unhappy.

Misaki was going to fix it, fix everything, so they wouldn't have to be upset anymore. He felt the conviction so strongly, it threatened to break him.

"You know what else he'd yell at us for?" Kamamoto managed to utter, placing his hands on his face to stop the crying, as if it helped. "Crying. He hated that. It's l-lame. He'd want us to be happy. T-that's what he would've wanted..."

_And I'll make sure it's what happens._

"You're right!" Akagi stood up, maybe too suddenly for the tense men around him, but he nevertheless spoke enthusiastically. "We shouldn't be so depressed! We should focus on remembering Yata and how awesome he was! He always said so anyways heh..."

That seemed to get a real, genuine chuckle out of everyone, and Bandou even sat up to offer a small smile. "Yeah...hey guys? I just realized, we haven't done a toast yet!"

"Isn't that for celebrations?"

"Well," Bandou said hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck. "We can celebrate Yata's life, and how we knew him...or whatever. I don't know, forget—"

"No, you're right!" Kamamoto got up from his seat, grabbing his mug of beer, which lay untouched on the counter. "It's what he deserves."

_You guys..._

The streams down his face were hot, but Misaki didn't have the will to stop crying, smiling despite it when he saw all his friends nod in agreement.

_Soon, I'll see you all soon._

"Maybe we should wait for—"

"We can do multiple toasts," Dewa interrupted Fujishima, finally rising from his seated position, and motioning for Chitose to hand him a beer. "It's appropriate after all."

No one disagreed with that, and all rose to create a circle, forcing back the emotion as they held up their glasses. Even Eric came over, hiding his face, and Chitose seemed to take a deep breath before joining everyone.

Misaki's heart felt ablaze, and he clutched at his shirt as he quivered from the onslaught.

His friends came together, and he wished more than anything that he was there too.

Kamamoto coughed, and managed to control his sobs long enough to speak, but his voice was still scratchy and uneven. Misaki blinked before his own tears began to pour excessively down his cheeks once more, and he couldn't help but grin as his friends managed smiles all around as the toast was made.

_Don't worry, I'll be back._

Kamamoto rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to find the right words, before simply chuckling to himself as his hand trembled on his glass. "Yata, we wish you were here man. We'll miss you."

A loud consensus rang through the bar, filling it with life again as the sun glared into the room, shining off the beer mugs as they clanked together. Even as the scene in front of him began to disappear into a white mist, Misaki could hear the sadness in the laughter, could see the smiles, and it warmed him more than fire ever could.

\--

Saruhiko watched as the dam seemed to finally burst, because that was how much Misaki's tears were flowing down his face. The redhead didn't even seem aware of it as the shorter stared at the group of men at the bar.

_Misaki's friends._

No wonder the redhead was sobbing, someone so expressive faced with his loved ones, who he couldn't even reach. Saruhiko didn't really feel comfortable with the unbridled expression, but...

Saruhiko didn't feel displeased this time upon seeing the other crying, because Misaki's tears were happy ones.

The open display of emotion struck him, and his stomach twisted as he stiffened uncomfortably. Even after all this time, perhaps part of him was envious that he couldn't express things as well. Still, it was alright. This was obviously Misaki's...family, or whatever. Though he didn't understand fully, he would let the redhead have his moment.

Saruhiko backed up, rejoining Munakata a ways away as the festivities began to fade out.

The boys in front of them toasted, solemn smiles staying put as they drank. Misaki was still as he stared, fists clenched as the tears came to a gradual halt, and the white fog came to engulf them once more.

It was a calm fog, but it carried away all the color and joy, the sounds of laughter and clinking shot glasses disintegrating into the nothingness. The quiet he'd come to hate so much was back, unfeeling and constant. Meanwhile Misaki still stood a few yards away, frozen.

Saruhiko snuck a glance at Munakata, whose face was neutral, if not serious, as he stared ahead. The silence of them all seemed to fit the situation despite the tension, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets as the smoke swirled at his feet. Saruhiko wasn't much one for social cues, but he knew in this instance, it was best to wait.

And wait they did, for what felt like hours. Saruhiko said nothing. He only looked on as Misaki began to move and shift gradually, hugging himself as the experience sank in.

As painful as it must have been, Saruhiko figured what Munakata had given Misaki really was a gift in its own way.

After some time, Munakata walked forward, and the small click of his boots made Saruhiko jump. He watched as the man approached Misaki slowly, carefully, being mindful in a way Saruhiko had yet to see be directed at the redhead. As if feeling the pull, he moved towards Misaki as well. He didn't exactly know how to help, but well, they were in this together.

When Munakata reached the redhead, Saruhiko was at Misaki's other side, and finally caught a glimpse of his face.

Saruhiko somehow knew the expression would be forever ingrained in his memory, no matter what became of him.

The tears had dried to light stains, and Misaki's eyes were red and swollen, the scars on his face still visible. But despite it, despite everything, he was smiling peacefully. He looked refreshed, regardless of his tired body and clenched fists. Saruhiko didn't consider himself to be particularly gifted with words, but if he had to describe Misaki in that one instant, he'd say 'brand new.'

In fact, Saruhiko  _felt_ the resurgence of energy, like it was Misaki's heat from the flames running up his hand. Those determined eyes were no longer struggling and desperate, but they looked as they had in the meeting room, right at the beginning of everything.

Saruhiko was robbed of speech, but Munakata thankfully began first. Misaki turned to the man as he spoke, his eyes searching. "I apologize for any distress I may have caused, but I believed it would be beneficial for—"

"Thank you." Misaki's voice was small, rough and maybe even a tad reluctant, but sincere all the same. It was all he apparently needed to say, because Munakata gave a quick smile as he nodded, effectively putting an end to it all.

As if it was an afterthought, Misaki turned to Saruhiko with a large grin, his expression hardly concealing all the feelings he was holding in. "Saruhiko, did you see? I swear I'll introduce you to them all when we get out of here! They're the best you know..."

In another situation, he may have scoffed then, made some offhand comment about how the boys had simply looked troublesome, and how he really didn't need to meet them  _ever,_ but...

Something about Misaki's tone, his words...

Who was he to doubt it? Maybe part of him even felt a bit...pleased that Misaki would consider him as someone to introduce to people he considered his home. Saruhiko grimaced at the feeling, but it didn't seem to deter the redhead and his joy as he laughed.

_'They're the best you know...'_

"I...bet," Saruhiko whispered, part of him hoping Misaki didn't hear, but no such luck. The redhead halted, surprised, before the joy was back tenfold, and before he knew it, their hands were locked again. It was becoming weirdly natural, and he didn't even feel the need to question it. Saruhiko simply returned the smile with a hesitant one of his own, content with the warmth they were sharing.

A cough interrupted them, and Saruhiko turned to Munakata, pulling his hand away.

Come to think of it...why were they still here?

Waltzing up to the man, Saruhiko turned his thoughts to more pressing matters, like, how exactly they were going to get out of the situation they were in. "I'm guessing we still have to try and fight that  _thing_ right? When are we going back?"

"Yeah," Misaki joined in, jogging up beside the taller. "I could fight an army right now! I'm ready!" As much as the courage would help, no matter how blind, Saruhiko grew anxious at the thought of sharing a battlefield with whatever had been chasing them. They had Misaki's power now at least, but they'd need a plan...

"In time," Munakata replied, his smile sincere. It caught Saruhiko a bit off guard, but nonetheless, he listened. "I have no doubts you two will succeed in this..."

_Right. Of course._

Saruhiko couldn't exactly ignore his own resolve though, but having Munakata continuously remind him of how he believed they would triumph over an impossible feat was always going to be annoying.

"So let's get on with it then." Saruhiko clicked his tongue. Really, he'd like to move on, even knowing the next trial would no doubt be much worse. Then...

_Hell's gates._

He tried not to think about that one yet.

"Oh? But did you really think I'd forget you Fushimi-kun?"

Saruhiko blinked, startled.  _Huh?_

"What are you on about now?" Honestly, they didn't have time for games. For an angel, Munakata sure liked to waste their time.

Misaki gasped beside him, and Saruhiko was getting irritated. "Saruhiko..."

"What?"

"It's as I informed you previously," Munakata cut in, voice kind and patient. "I wish to show both of you what you're fighting for."

Munakata didn't wait for a reply.

He raised his arm, and the fog swirled around them on his command, blinding them as their field of vision was nothing but white. Saruhiko closed his eyes tightly, hearing the whooshing grow intense in its volume as Misaki's startled yelp was drowned out. It was rough and unexpected, and just as Saruhiko thought he couldn't take the noise any longer, it stopped.

It all stopped.

It was quiet again, but in a different way. It wasn't drastic like usual. There was the light hum of television static and rustling papers in the back ground, sink water running...

Saruhiko's body relaxed slowly, and he opened his eyes with hesitance. Munakata was standing a few feet away still, arms folded regally behind him as he backed away further. Misaki was there as well, looking around, about as confused as he was.

Saruhiko caught his eye, and Misaki pointed behind him, gaze questioning. Saruhiko, unaware of an alternative, listened.

He was met with a small foyer area, one with moving boxes strewn about and new furniture sitting in the dark room. It might've looked abandoned or eerie to any stranger.

But no...he wasn't one in this case.

Saruhiko felt his entire body become instantly soothed and comfortable, a familiar reaction which he generally, after lots of time and denial, came to associate with walking into his office. That, and...

The front door was already decorated with reminder notes, the neat handwriting making his hunch even sounder.

_It's..._

He recognized the home, he'd only been there a few times, but he knew it, had heard his friend gush about it when she was house hunting.

His thoughts froze then, as he finally began to take in everything.

There was light in the neighboring room, and he walked to it hurriedly, chasing any sign of people. It was empty though, the only sounds being the crackling of firewood.

He remembered the fireplace, and it was lit now, shining into the dim room. He couldn't feel any of its warmth, but oh how he wished he could. Why was it lit in the first place though...

_It's not exactly their style...Oh._

Right, they hadn't put in lamps yet, all they had were the shitty fixtures the previous owners had forgotten to fix. There were boxes everywhere, unpacked except for a few which held necessities. There were new floorboards sitting neglected, as if something had interrupted the home repairs.

The T.V. was in the corner, unplugged with tangled wires, and he recalled how he'd been given the task of setting it up. He hadn't had the chance.

It was a mess essentially, books on the floor, things overturned, and he had to question everything he knew, because no, this couldn't be the house he was thinking of. It was as if everything had frozen mid move in. It was unbelievable. The one who owned it...she was always so organized, almost annoyingly so. Her fiancé wasn't a slob either...There was no way they'd let it fall apart like this.

Despite himself, he felt worry consume him. What had happened?

Saruhiko heard footsteps, and they filled him with even more dread.

Something in his stomach churned, like part of him knew what he was about to see, and he wasn't really prepared for it.

He didn't want to be there, but at the same time he felt his skin burn, his legs ache with the desire to run throughout the house, find its occupants. The urge was overwhelming, almost as much as the smell.

Perfume...cigarettes...new shoes from one of those stupid online services...

_"Do you really need this many shoes?"_

_"Oh enough, I never bother you when you spend your money on unhealthy food."_

_"Actually, yes you do."_

_"Well, if I don't you'll just fall over dead one day! I can't have that happening can I?"_

"S-Saru?" Misaki's voice was distant in his ears, still comforting, but lost on him in that moment as he tried to comprehend everything. In fact, he'd barely noticed the other follow him. "Is this...your house?"

No. But he was gonna be there often, had even been coaxed into helping set up some of the features after some nagging.

There was going to be a sitting room for company...

The footsteps stopped at the threshold of the room, stopping slightly, before continuing to move forward towards the fire. He dared not look.

Louder, heavier steps followed quickly after the others, and—

"Seri-chan please, come here. It wasn't your fau—"

Saruhiko's head whipped around instantly, and he felt like falling over right then...or maybe running over. He'd never experience such conflicting impulses before, and all he could end up doing was staring with wide eyes.

"H-hey," Misaki whispered beside him. "That's Kusanagi-san!"

Saruhiko didn't have the time, or the interest, to question how Misaki knew his friend's fiance in that moment, his mind fixated on the couple in front of him. Once he saw the first tears on the woman's face, he shut down, and the guilt coursed through him.

"I should've told him to be more careful, I-I should've gone with him! He was always so stubborn..."

_No..._

The voice was hardly understandable between the multitude of sobs and sniffles, the choked words sounding unfamiliar accompanied with the voice and it's owner. Even still, she stood up straight (she always had to maintain her air of authority in some way), and it punched him in the gut even more than he thought it would.

Seri was shaking, her arms wrapped tightly around her petite form as Kusanagi's came to join her, pulling her into a tight, supportive embrace as quivers wracked her body with a force so strong, Saruhiko might've considered more drastic measures. If he had been there. If he was alive. If he was alive though, this wouldn't even be happening.

"Fushimi was a grown up, he made his own decisions, it wasn't—"

"Izumo please! Don't talk about him like he was old, like it was his  _time._ It's  _not_ true."

"I...I know that."

Seri turned around, facing her fiance with swollen eyes and snot marring her normally pristine face, and hugged him, willing her tears away as he stroked her hair. "Two deaths on the same day...how cruel."

Saruhiko couldn't take it. Too much. Too much emotion, he didn't deserve it. What had he ever done to be worthy of being missed?

He hated it. Everything was his fault. Saruhiko couldn't exactly remember how he'd died, but how he wished he could've stopped it.

Seri didn't look right to Saruhiko. She was wearing mismatched socks, which was the first indicator. She never did that. Her black dress looked shabby and un-ironed, as if she'd thrown it on without care, and her hair was hardly contained in a messy pony tail, strands falling out sloppily.

He felt sick from it alone, but her voice...he couldn't tolerate it. Something in his brain itched too, perhaps a memory, hazy and almost absent altogether. He knew it had something to do with what she was saying though...

Saruhiko glared harshly at the floor, why couldn't he remember?

"Dear, the boys will be here soon to pick you up...you should get ready." Kusanagi looked tired too, conflicted and filled with anguish in his own way. It confused Saruhiko, after all, while he did like Kusanagi, they weren't exactly close yet.

_Two deaths..._

"What's the point?" Seri's grave tone was accompanied with a sniffle and a few hiccups, and she pulled away to wipe at her nose. "I look a mess, and I'm wearing black. Is that not good enough for a funeral? It's how I feel inside. Saruhiko was never one for formality anyways."

_You hate wearing black..._

"Izumo, shouldn't you be getting to the bar?"

Kusanagi rubbed the back of his neck, the worry evident in his expression. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you to the funeral? I'm your fiance, I should be there to support—"

"No. I have the boys, they'll take care of me. They always have. You should be at the bar with everyone, I know your friend's death has been hard on all of you..."

Saruhiko tensed again at the mention of his coworkers, the memories of laughter and after work shenanigans flashing in his mind. Still, he squinted in confusion at her other words...

He remembered Misaki's inquiry, and he bit his lip.

_'H-hey, that's Kusanagi-san!'_

Kusanagi looked away from her, swallowing thickly as the hands threading through Seri's hair stopped. He seemed to have trouble speaking. "Yata...probably would have liked us to all be together..."

_Misaki._

Saruhiko gasped. Turning to the redhead, they exchanged a glance of brief understanding, but Saruhiko felt it run through his entire being. They were connected, pretty significantly too. Who would've guessed? Saruhiko almost laughed from the sheer coincidence, but he was too focused on what was going on.

"But are you sure?" Kusanagi asked again, and as he did, the doorbell chimed, causing the couple to turn sadly towards the door.

Seri hiccupped again, pulling away completely as she grabbed a coat which was piled messily on the floor a few feet away. "I'm sure."

Saruhiko turned away as the couple shared a chaste kiss, uncomfortable with witnessing the intimate gesture, and instead focused on the door.

He could hear multiple muffled voices on the other side of it, and his stomach twisted. He already knew who it was. Seri's stumbling form passed him, and he followed her back to the entrance, footing clumsy and almost mechanical. She paused before opening the door, fresh tears flowing down her face even with her effort to compose herself.

The door creaked, evidence of its age, and as his co-workers came into view and caught sight of the blonde, their stoic expressions crumbled.

They pulled her in, and Saruhiko wanted to vomit. Not because he was disgusted with them, but more with himself. He did this.

"O-oi Awashima, d-don't..." Hidaka couldn't finish, he excused himself outside, overcome, and Andy followed after touching Seri's arm comfortingly. In the end, Kamo and Akiyama were her shields, allowing her to lean on them as she got oriented. Well, as much as she could anyways. They kept their emotions in for her sake, but their eyes were as lifeless and tired as the rest.

Enomoto held a crumpled paper harshly in his hands as he fought back his own tears, perhaps words he wished to say or something...

It didn't make Saruhiko feel any better. Outside, he could make out someone sitting in one of the cars they'd arrived in, and it didn't take him long to know it was Benzai, hunched over by himself. Gotou and Fuse were leaning off to the side against the wall, lost in their own thoughts.

The misery swirled in the air, and Kusanagi apologetically stepped through it to make his way to his own car, bidding Seri one last goodbye. "Make sure she's alright."

He was, of course, met with affirmatives all around.

The sound of his car starting minutes later barely registered with the group at the door, and the engine revving as the car pulled down the street only faded into the silence between them all. Seri still shook, and she pulled her coat tighter around herself.

No one seemed interested in moving.

All the while, Saruhiko stood, disbelieving. He hadn't realized it either, but at some point, he'd grabbed Misaki's hand again.

_Why?_

He didn't understand it. Why were they so sad about this? He didn't deserve it.

Saruhiko tried to deny everything, tried so hard to scoff at all of it.

He was just their coworker, an acquaintance. It was ridiculous for them to cry, for them to attend a funeral. He hardly deserved that.

But no, his mind was a battlefield, and with each single shot of denial, a firing squad of memories responded. Birthdays, picnics, amusement park visits, all the things he'd been dragged to and complained about...His mind had packaged each with care, treasured them, and he couldn't shake them away.

_Fuck. No...no..._

"I guess...he really is gone," Fuse whispered finally, breaking the silence as everyone turned to him. "It's...doesn't feel real."

Another wave of quiet, and then Seri was clearing her throat. Saruhiko wanted this to be over. He was angry, but more importantly, he was  _ready_. As Misaki had said, he could've fought an army in that moment. The hand around his own tightened.

"Maybe he's not, he can't be right? It's not like him, not anymore..." Seri whispered, tone somewhat delusional, and Akiyama exchanged worried glances with the others.

"Awashima we all miss him, you especially but...you identified the body."

Saruhiko choked.

_No_...

Seri only smiled, though there was no real joy in it. She didn't reply, walking out the door, leaving them all behind as she motioned for them to follow. The weather seemed even bleaker than before.

She paused to look back, wiping her eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"How could you say that was him?" Her voice came out a whisper, strained, and it cut him up inside while her face scrunched up to contain herself. "With his face all messed up like that."

That was the last straw.

He rushed forward, stepping in front of her, blocking her path in any way he could.

"Seri, Seri I'm right here!" He frantically looked to the guys, eyes wide, and he'd never felt so desperate. He was beyond the humiliation. "You idiots, don't you see! Tell her!"

But she just walked into him, through him like he was nothing more than air, and as she passed through him, for a moment he could feel the anguish, the confusion, as if he was absorbing all the emotions wrapped up in her.

The feelings crashed into him.

And as if to worsen the blow, the rest of the group followed, passing through him and staining him with their sorrow, their grief. He tried to grab them by the shoulders, tell them to stop crying because it was stupid and useless. He was  _right here_.

Enomoto paused in front of him, face morphing a little in confusion as he stared right into Saruhiko's eyes.  _C'mon_...

But no, there was nothing, no recognition, only sadness. Enomoto simply clutched the paper in his hand a little tighter as a few of the pent up tears spilled, and walked through Saruhiko, shutting the door behind him with a final slam.

Saruhiko was barely given time to process it all before the fog engulfed them again, the home blurring out and disappearing before his eyes. The last thing he heard was the car pulling away.

The quiet was less easy to deal with this time.

He didn't know how to sort out his thoughts, or deal with the revelations. One which seemed to break through the rest however, was the fact he was missed. They missed him.

It felt like a luxury Saruhiko didn't deserve, an emotion not meant for him in any way. Yes, these were his co-workers, and while he rarely admitted it, they were his friends, and the closest thing to...belonging he'd ever known.

Saruhiko hated the word 'family.' It'd been tainted long ago, but the root meaning he guessed, would apply here.

While he didn't deserve or feel worthy of it, he should've known they'd miss him as much as they were.

Maybe an even harder realization, which he'd known all along, was the fact he missed them as well.

Not knowing what else to do, he crammed his hands into his pockets, forcing the emotion down, and he was vaguely aware of Munakata off to his side, making no move to step forward. He was grateful, maybe more than he'd care to say. His chest burned and he felt sick, but he'd never felt so unwavering and resolute in his life.

\--

Misaki's emotions were still frazzled from his own experience, and he blinked away stray tears from the memory itself, so vivid and recent.

But seeing Saruhiko in the same state, made his chest tighten, and it was as if his body yearned to comfort the other, provide relief which surely would never be enough as long as they were among the dead.

On top of it all, the revelation that his and Saruhiko's families were connected, even a little, had Misaki's stomach twisting every which way. It didn't feel bad, it was mostly overwhelming and...well, he didn't know how it felt. He missed his friends, which made him sadder than he could've ever imagined. He was angry, because he was dead and he was missing out on opportunities, on his life. But even with all those emotions, part of him was happy, because he was with Saruhiko, and it must've been fate.

If he wasn't re-energized already, it was tenfold now. He and Saruhiko were going to get back home, and when they did, Misaki knew they'd still stick together through whatever the universe dealt them.

Misaki stepped forward, seeing as Munakata was making no move to, heading right for Saruhiko.

The taller was shaking, glaring at his feet with new fury, and Misaki didn't know what else to do but act on impulse. His emotions were all over the damn place, and he was geared up for a fight, and fuck, Saruhiko looked the same.

_He really is amazing...we both are huh?_

Misaki finally closed the distance. He wrapped his arms around that slender waist, and he didn't care how lame it was, he hugged Saruhiko with everything he had. The tension flew out of him, and all they'd been through so far flashed in his mind. It wasn't over...

The other froze instantly beneath him, body quivering from the sudden touch. Misaki inhaled, and clutched tighter for just a moment. Misaki thought Saruhiko might push him away, or stand there stiffly the whole time, which he didn't mind, but the redhead knew they should be moving on anyways. It's not like he wanted Saruhiko to be uncomfortable. He motioned to pull away, his grip loosening slightly, and then he gasped.

Saruhiko's arms were feather light around him, but the fact they were there at all, returning the gesture, was enough.

Their breathing was uneven as they stood there in their embrace, not bothering to pull away until they'd calmed down, and the quiet had settled over them once more.

It wasn't until the sound of footsteps entered the space that they pulled away gently, sharing a last, concealed glance which nearly took Misaki's breath away.

Saruhiko eventually looked away, taking a deep breath before he faced Munakata, face serious, and nodded gratefully. Munakata's lips quirked up, and any leftover stress in the atmosphere dissipated.

"I am relieved to see my gift was helpful." Munakata stepped closer looking between the both of them solemnly. Misaki didn't get why, but he had a strange feeling Munakata and Mikoto were going more out of their way for them. Not like he minded, but it was weird. He wondered what Saruhiko thought...

"However," Munakata continued. "I'm afraid it's time to continue with your journey."

Misaki swallowed, but it wasn't all from fear.

Saruhiko straightened noticeably, and Misaki couldn't help but grin at him. It would be hell he knew, but even then...

He remembered his friends crying, the comfortable atmosphere of the bar, the idea of being with Saruhiko there, alive...

"We're ready," Saruhiko voiced, simple and serious. Misaki already felt the flames dancing at his fingertips from the anticipation.

_Right. Let's fucking do this._

\--

Munakata stepped through the portal, joining Mikoto in the meeting room once more with a serene smile on his face. Mikoto quirked a brow, looking between the other man and the pool and two figures began to descend down from a narrow rock formation.

"Ya got the job done hm?" Mikoto's voice was slow as he watched the boys from the pool, only sparing Munakata a few looks as the other seated himself back down beside him.

"Don't I always?"

Mikoto only chuckled, leaning forward as his stomach couldn't help but hitch from the view in front of him. Even after centuries, the memories and trauma were still fresh.

Munakata's gift had better work wonders now.

"Let's see how they do."

\--

The bones clattered a bit too loudly for Saruhiko's tastes as they landed on the ground, having scaled successfully down from the cave. Misaki flinched beside him as the sound echoed into the fog, and Saruhiko stopped, waiting for some sort of noise or indication of a threat approaching.

The loud movements of the creature were nowhere to be found, but that didn't mean it wasn't nearby...waiting. After some time, Saruhiko nodded to Misaki, and the shorter's hands lit up allowing them some ability to see in front of them. Cautiously, they began to walk forward, making sure to stay close to each other as they waded through the graveyard.

Their breathing was loud from the anxiety, and their footsteps were even louder. Not a good mix.

Saruhiko felt a bit safer though with his newfound determination, and combined with the gift Misaki was granted by Mikoto, they were in somewhat better standing.

Their next step was getting out of the boneyard unharmed, and finding the continuation of the path. It had become apparent to Saruhiko early on that finding anything beneath the dense layer of rock and bone was fruitless, and they'd most likely need to get to clear ground in order to reorient themselves. Problem was, they had no idea which direction was correct.

That was, until Saruhiko remembered the direction the creature had run off in as it was searching for them, bashing against distant rock formations to the north as it ran. It was true the thing might've just been a mindless beast, darting about randomly in search of prey. But, this thing had been there, destroying the hopes of souls on the Return, for who knew how long. If Saruhiko's theory was correct, it ran in that direction because it was where the end of its domain was, and it wanted to capture them before they could reach it.

It was farfetched and possibly untrue, but it was all they had, and Misaki hadn't objected, too eager to get moving. He felt the same for once...

_"Hey Saruhiko," Misaki said as they got ready to climb down from the cave. The taller looked at him, hands itching strangely to take the other's, a gesture which was becoming more of a reflex as time went on._

_"Hm?"_

_The other seemed to flush then, struggling for words, and Saruhiko felt amused for the first time in a while "W-well, you know..."_

_"Oh, do I?"_

_Honestly, even in these circumstances, messing with the redhead was a lot of fun._

_"Shut up!" Misaki threw up his hands, looking away. "Just, ugh, we're connected! In real life I mean...and here...I don't know. I'm just...happy I got to meet you, but it would've happened eventually! I mean, it's gotta be fate or some crap! Like, meant to be..."_

_Saruhiko's eyes widened a bit as the other looked comically pissed off for no reason, and though back to what they'd seen. Right, they were connected, though, Saruhiko had never exactly believed in fate or destiny._

_Still, seeing Misaki's eyes light up like they had..._

_Meant to be huh?_

_"How cheesy," Saruhiko replied, of course ruining the moment. It didn't stop him from smirking though._

_Misaki sputtered indignantly, rattling off curses and excuses, until finally quieting down enough to mutter a real response. "Whatever ok? Just...I'm glad you're here, you piece of shit."_

_Saruhiko found the smirk he had on forming into a calm smile at the words, though the feelings surging up inside him felt foreign and unfamiliar, as he'd only began to experience them upon meeting the redhead._

_They looked at each other, lost there for a long moment, not worried about anything outside of the sphere they both inhabited._

_Fate...hm..._

_The only thing which seemed to stop the moment was the view from where they stood. A harsh pathway down, dense fog, and the knowledge of what was at the bottom waiting for them..._

_They grew quiet, and before they could second guess themselves anymore, Saruhiko crouched down, shooting Misaki a questioningly glance._

_The redhead followed, and again, Saruhiko took in the details of his face as best he could._

The sound of bones shuffling behind them snapped Saruhiko out of his reverie, and he and Misaki both stiffened instantly, the redhead extinguishing his flame as fast as he could.

The shuffling stopped too, but a bit too late. No, Saruhiko definitely heard it. He whirled them around, stealth be damned because now, he was almost positive they were being watched. Aiming Misaki's hand towards the sound, he planted his feet, ready for what was to come. "Misaki!"

The flames, now more powerful, branched out in front of them, and Saruhiko finally saw  _it._

_It_ , was huge, and its face was something which sent chills through him, twisted and with unblinking eyes, skin pulled painfully...

It made him want to hurl and stand there, frozen. A demon would be preferable to this thing. It's teeth were too big for its mouth, and he could see the sharp fangs as the mouth was pulled upward cruelly due to the strange anatomy. It almost looked at if it was smiling at them. Most notably, it was _crouched,_ not even twenty feet from them. It had been so close... _waiting_.

Like it was playing with its food.

Misaki didn't hesitate, he shot the red aura forward, attacking the beast without caution as survival instincts took over. The creature almost completely dodged it, but screeched horrifically into the air as part of his flank was scorched by the heat.

It leapt to the side, stopped, and cried into the space between it and the boys. It was deafening, and they stumbled.

Then it was charging forward.

\--

Misaki didn't question it, he ran, trying not to lose sight of Saruhiko. In his head, he knew they probably couldn't avoid it the whole time, outrunning the monster was going to be impossible, and they had no physical weapons...

Misaki felt the heat climbing up his arm, and he halted in his retreat. He had to do  _something_. Saruhiko stopped a few yards ahead of him.

"Misaki! What are you doing?!"

"We can't run anymore! We'll lose!"

He got distracted by the other, and the creature came a little too close for comfort. It raised a mangled paw, and the sharp claws sliced into his flesh. Misaki cried out as his shirt was ripped through, the blood beginning to stain it, and he reacted impulsively.

He ran forward, summoning a small tornado of red to defend himself, keeping the beast away from him due to the heat and light.

There was no way he could keep it up forever though, when Mikoto-san had said he'd only given a little bit of power, he hadn't been kidding.

Even using a little was exhausting. They had to think of something soon...

As the creature backed off, its eyes seemed to dart to Saruhiko, who was unprotected and standing frozen. It made a move to sprint, but Misaki stopped it, cutting off its path with a powerful surge of aura, and it cried out.

As if reacting on instinct, Saruhiko picked up a sharp pointed bone, one which was slowly crumbling under his touch. The taller ran forward, dodging a swipe of the beast's paw by sliding under it, and attempted to drive the sharp edge into its stomach.

The hide was too thick, and the bone shattered. "Fuck!"

Misaki charged as the creature leapt aside, moving to sink its teeth into Saruhiko below it, and the redhead punched its eyes, the flames radiating from his fingertips. It wasn't enough to cause serious damage, but it was enough for them both to retreat back a good distance.

Saruhiko stumbled from the shock of Misaki's arm, which was still bleeding from the flesh's jagged edges, and he fell into the bones at his feet.

Misaki didn't have time to take care of his wound, or help Saruhiko up, because soon he was forced to square off again with the beast, and the dangerous dance felt never ending.

\--

Munakata stood up as the creature launched itself forward, reaching into the pool and sending waves of blue aura into it.

Mikoto looked mildly surprised, but pleased overall. "Ya said no helping Munakata..."

The other simply glared as the ripples in the water grew larger, and before him the landscape before Saruhiko's feet glowed a bright blue.

He couldn't do much, but he could offer the most of what was permitted. "I cannot allow them to yield so easily. As you said, I may not be able to help directly..."

He pulled his hand away, nodding to himself as the boy in the pool looked ahead, perplexed.

_But this will have to do._

"Fushimi-kun..."

\--

Saruhiko blinked, clawing through his thoughts to think of a plan, to think of anything which would get them out of this. The creature wasn't worrying with him again, at least not yet, and it probably thought it had won. Maybe it had, but like hell was Saruhiko going to roll over again.

_Think_...

Misaki was barely keeping the thing at bay, power being exhausted by the minute, and running was only going to get them so far in this trial. It wouldn't be like the tomb, if they wanted to get out, they had to kill this thing. Easier said than done.

_Ugh, come on! Think!_

The creature shrieked from a blow to the eyes, but unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Misaki might've been able to deliver a fatal blow at closer proximity, and with more power, but now he needed Saruhiko.

Hastily, and pushing aside his disgust, the taller wafted through the bones at his feet, looking for femurs or ribs, something long and not brittle. Every time he managed to find something though, it began to chip or crumble, and he threw it violently in frustration.

Misaki retreated a few yards back, closer to Saruhiko, shooting him a desperate glance.

_I'm trying..._

"Fuck!" Another bone broke in his hands, the disheartening crack blending into the growls of the creature as it paced before them, waiting for any opening. It darted forward, and Misaki rushing to meet it, barely blocking the attack with a weak burst of red.

He didn't know what to do.

Suddenly, the space in front of him lit up, a familiar blue glow momentarily blinding him as the waves of it swept upward, manifesting something long and stick like from the ground.

"Wha—"

_Fushimi-kun, take the sword. It's not in the best condition, but it's all I could do. Take it!_

Munakata's voice rang through his head, and he blinked quickly before lunging forward. In his immediate imagination, he thought Munakata had made things easy, giving him a sword. Finally, a more manageable weapon.

That is, until he actually got a look at the thing. It was ancient, the blade dull and cracked in some places, like it had been pulled from a grave from centuries ago. The handle was even a bit unstable, and Saruhiko had to hold it cautiously. It was only somewhat better than the brittle bones he'd been contemplating before. It short, it was shit, but it'd have to do.

"Saruhiko!"

His examination was cut short when his eyes found Misaki. The flames rippling from his hands were almost non-existent now, fading, and barely being enough to keep the creature at bay. It was no longer blinding it though, and Saruhiko saw the beast crouch, five seconds off from pouncing on the other in what would surely be a final attack.

Saruhiko ran, not caring then as his mind gave him the events in slow motion. Misaki stumbled back, the fire receding, and Saruhiko was so close, almost...

_Two...one_...

The thing leapt, and Saruhiko sprinted the remaining few yards with everything he had, crashing into the redhead as the creature cast a shadow over them, teeth bared and ready to sink into the flesh they connected with upon landing.

Saruhiko was terrified, his lungs burned, but he did all he could. He raised the sword with both hands, and yelled when it connected harshly, the handle breaking under the pressure, and forcing parts of the chipped material into his hands.

But hell no was he going to let go.

The dull edge of the blade sunk into the flesh, and the beast cried out in pain, the sound horrific and deafening, but Saruhiko pushed against the heavy weight, trying to dig the blade in deeper. Meanwhile, Misaki supported him, making sure the creature, still alive, didn't fall and crush them. The creature's limbs flailed about above them, trying to claw at them, defend itself, and Saruhiko had to be wary of them to his side.

"S-Saruhiko, you did it!"

Even with the wound though, Saruhiko knew it wasn't enough. The blade was quivering from piercing the thick hide, and as much as he tried to dig it in deeper, he was afraid it might break, and then they'd be in deep shit.

"Misaki! I need you..." The sword began to slip.

"Huh?"

"Grab the sword and...shoot...the aura through it!" The creature's paw came up, trying to get away, to ground itself, and it easily sliced through the sleeve of Saruhiko's jacket. "Now!"

"B-but it'll fall on—"

"I don't care!" He felt his knees buckling. "Just do it!"

With a yell, Misaki let go of the beast's chest, and as the thing began to fall and suffocate them, he grabbed the sword harshly. The sword warmed up as the heat shot through and out of it, becoming too hot for Saruhiko to hold, and he wretched away. He landed unceremoniously on the ground, below the massive form of the beast as it gave a last, agonizing shriek as the red pierced it, going through its back.

Saruhiko didn't wait as the beast stopped moving, its legs becoming useless in holding it up even a little, and he grabbed Misaki's waist above him, rolling them both out of the way as the creature fell forward, onto the sword.

The impact echoed across the landscape, the sound of the creature hitting the ground, of the bones being destroyed under the force, and the dust mixing with the fog. Saruhiko's nerves were still on the fritz, and his breathing came out unevenly. Judging from how fast Misaki's chest was rising beneath his head, it was easily to tell the redhead was in the same state.

They did it.

The silence gradually returned to the atmosphere, the threat extinguished, but still they laid there, taking it in for as long as they could. Misaki was flat on his back, and Saruhiko was lying on top of him, arms still loosely situated around his waist from pushing them out of the way. Misaki's hand came up to clutch at the small of Saruhiko's back, probably trying to ground himself, but Saruhiko didn't care. The touch wasn't unwelcome.

However, his hands were still aching, and his arm was beginning to feel numb under Misaki's weight, and soon he had no choice but to move. Misaki shifted to allow Saruhiko to get up, but the taller halted shortly after.

Even placing his hands on Misaki's chest to get up was painful, and he winced loudly. Misaki immediately sat up and grabbed Saruhiko's shoulders, helping him up slowly to his knees.

"Saruhiko! Are you—oh." The redhead saw his cut up hands, the wounds from both the wall and the sword making his once smooth palms rough and uneven. Misaki winced himself, gently taking hold of Saruhiko's wrists to look better.

It wasn't the first time Saruhiko was so close to the other's face, but he was finding himself less and less awkward about it. Though, the shivers and not so unexplained stomach flips were still annoying.

As the redhead examined the cuts, Saruhiko got a good look at the shorter. Misaki didn't have any shortage of wounds on both his arms and shoulders, and the fact he was still more worried about Saruhiko made heat rush to his face.

"Hm, it looks pretty bad, but I think I can help!" Misaki looked off to the side, where the tattered remains of one of Saruhiko's sleeves sat, close to the creature's corpse. As if the thing might reanimate and kill them even after everything, Misaki rushed and grabbed it quickly, and Saruhiko couldn't help but chuckle in amusement.

"Hey, that fucking thing almost got us, I'm not taking chances in this damn place..." Misaki glared as he evened out the fabric, taking one of Saruhiko's hands and wrapping it as best he could. It stung, but it was for the best he supposed. "Things appearing out of nowhere, monsters, too many fucking surprises if you ask me! We almost lost,  _twice_."

Well, maybe he was right on that front. But..."Keyword,  _almost_."

"'Che, yeah whatever, you know what I—" Misaki raised his head as the realization dawned on him, and Saruhiko offered him an expectant look and a smile as the redhead's expression morphed into a grin. "Hey...that's right! We did it!"

"Yes, barely, but yes."

Misaki scowled playfully, tying the first bandage securely around Saruhiko's hand. He made a move to rip his other half sleeve off to create a second one, muttering something about 'it'll look lame if you only have one ripped sleeve anyways.'

Saruhiko didn't have it in him to protest at that point.

As the last bandage was tied, and Misaki nursed his own wounds, Saruhiko looked off into the distance. Vaguely, he thought he could make out the horizon, and he hoped his previous theory was right. Who knew what was waiting for them next, but well, they'd gotten this far.

In a different situation, that in itself might've been enough. But no, he wouldn't be satisfied until he was back in his office, drinking coffee and running late to dumb wedding rehearsals. As shitty as humanity was, he'd go back for the sake of a few. And besides all that, he thought it might be nice to see Misaki in a situation which wasn't life threatening.

As his thoughts drifted to the redhead once more, Saruhiko turned to look at him, just as he was finished tying a bandage around his own arm. He was struggling a bit, and Saruhiko reached over to help, making sure to tie it securely.

Misaki muttered a thanks, taking a deep breath as he stared off into the distance as well. Right, it was time to move on.

"You know Saruhiko, I don't think we need to worry now." Misaki was still staring, not facing Saruhiko, and the taller raised an eyebrow. It was a bold statement, one which may come back to bite them in the ass.

"Why do you say that?"

"I dunno, I guess...no matter how shitty everything gets," Misaki said, turning to face Saruhiko once more, eyes shining in the dull, gray surroundings. "We make a great team. I...I think we always will."

Saruhiko's breathing stuttered, and it must've been noticeable too, because Misaki laughed lightly. Whatever. Saruhiko pouted, standing up finally, and the other joined him, stretching out his sore muscles.

"Alright! Let's go!" Misaki's voice thundering through the quiet, and Saruhiko shushed him.

"What are you trying to do? You don't know what's in here..." Saruhiko glanced around cautiously, but fortunately, there was no movement.

"Whoops."

As Misaki walked in front of him, Saruhiko thought about what he'd said, turning it over in his mind again and again.

_I...I think we always will._

The promise of an always had Saruhiko's body shivering, but not unpleasantly. It was a promise in multiple ways, the words. A promise to get out of there, to see each other again, but more than anything, it was a promise to be involved in each other's lives, and as abrupt and farfetched as it was...

Saruhiko couldn't find himself objecting to it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comments are always welcome and appreciated ^^ Hopefully the next update comes a bit quicker! I'll be on vacation in a month anyways so, stay tuned ^^  
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole  
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole


	6. Focal Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive lol! Sorry for the wait, I was dealing with exams all throughout December, not to mention this chapter ended up being super difficult to get through, definitely a challenge lol. I hope you all enjoy regardless!   
> Big thanks to EmeraldWaves as always for being amazing and reading this over!

With approximately one hundred and five people dying every minute, having new arrivals was common. People perished easily, Munakata had come to realize, both the young and the old. He watched as the gates of heaven continuously opened, allowing people into the new, trouble free paradise. At one point he compared it to a kingdom, but it didn't do it enough justice. No kingdom he'd ever served was as vibrant.

There were angels, those with less authority, ushering the newly departed in, accommodating those in shock from having died suddenly or young. At the end of it all though, people welcomed the peaceful landscape, the endless possibilities, and lack of worries which life had been plagued with.

The portal to heaven closed in front of Mikoto, and Munakata nodded. Even with Fushimi and Yata carrying on with the Return, all aspects of the afterlife still had to be checked on every now and again.

In a way it was a break. The Return was a heavy thing to watch.

Hell was, however, usually a different story when checked up on.

Munakata looked away as the portal opened before him, the gnarled, twisted entrance creaking shut as the disgruntled cries and sounds of unrest faded away. People arrived in hell often too, but they were hardly ever afforded explanations or relief.

It was unforgiving, bleak. He couldn't understand why some honestly deserved to be there.

But alas...

Munakata had accepted the ways of the afterlife and his position long ago. Sorting people, disconnecting himself from them...was difficult. In his life, bonding, socializing, understanding others had been a big part of his personal philosophy. Here it wasn't the most intelligent way to go about things.

Souls were meant to go where they were meant to go. He could not question the ways of the universe, he could only do his best.

As he and Mikoto glanced down into the pool, two figures could be seen walking, hand and hand down a slick incline, the taller collapsing from the effort when they reached the bottom.

In that moment, so close yet still so far from the end, Munakata found himself hoping again. Hoping that hell wouldn't have two new arrivals anytime soon.

"Caves."

But yes, there were perhaps potentially worse things on the horizon.

Munakata blinked, looking to his partner for clarification. It wasn't exactly that he hadn't heard but...maybe if he asked again the answer would be different. "Pardon?"

"They're headin' to the caves," Mikoto mumbled, twirling the chain which sat around his neck in his hands, never taking his eyes off the pool below. It wasn't often Mikoto looked off put, but...there it was.

Munakata could've argued that there was no way of telling for sure that it was the caves, but as he saw the slick basalt rock beneath the two boys, his gut told him otherwise. Certain things were just common knowledge after so many centuries of watching the Return be done.

"Mm." It was all he could say at first. After all, Fushimi and Yata had only gone through two trials. Munakata sighed, trying to be logical. Yes it had been two trials, but they’d both been unusually grueling, back breaking trials. It was perhaps more than likely that the caves would come along now...

As dread began to fester, as did a ping of irritation. “It always feels too soon for him to interfere."

Munakata's eye twitched. Couldn't be helped, he hated when he lacked jurisdiction.

A grunt was the response he initially received, followed by a tense shrug. Care free or not, Mikoto had been uncharacteristically on edge through the entire ordeal. They both had, and they'd tried to help, but now..."Maybe there's somethin' else before that."

Munakata's body stiffened, and he kept his eyes trained on the figures in the pool as they took a rest. Not even the genuine display of affection could stop the ice running through him though.

"A trial in the caves has never happened before, Suoh."

A shrug. Munakata was really starting to hate that, even after five or six centuries of it. It communicated so much when it was from Mikoto, the one, lazy gesture. "Doesn't mean there couldn't be."

That was impossible to argue with, and Munakata cursed the fact. The Return was full of its surprises, but pulling out so many in one go...

He could only trust that the boys would make it. They'd already done so well as it was.

At least the thought itself made Munakata crack a small smile, eyes trained on the figures below as they looked ahead on the path, the ground becoming slick and dark.

They would manage.

Still, Munakata couldn't help from tapping his foot anxiously, sharing a last, knowing look with Mikoto as the next phase of the journey seemed to commence before them.

"Well regardless, anything that happens in there isn't in our hands anymore."

\--

Saruhiko's legs had given out, and really, Yata's had too. Once the other had dropped to the floor, he hadn't been far behind, landing softly against the other.

Yata's hands twisted in the fabric of Saruhiko's shirt, pulling him in to chase any warmth he could get. It probably didn't matter much though, his body already seemed so used to the cold.

The land around them was barren, quiet apart from the occasional wind gust. It felt as if they'd traveled forever, but Yata didn't know. Curiously, he looked behind where they sat on the path, expecting to see a steep drop of cliff and expanse of land. But no, there was only a flat, desert like landscape. Everything they'd traveled up until that point was gone, like it had been erased.

Yata swallowed, no longer in awe or fearful of how the world he was in manipulated itself every which way. No, what was important was...

"Can you see anything ahead?" Yata spoke hesitantly, looking to the distance before them. He was breathing hard, his head spinning from what must've been a drop in altitude or...something. Yata had been pretty adventurous and outdoorsy when he was alive, so he'd figured he knew what that felt like. The only thing was that it felt like instead of hiking too high, he'd swam too deep.

_Fuck...my head..._

They had walked so long it felt like, through strange turns and crevices, down steep inclines which seemed never-ending. That was one damn thing he'd never get used to, the time here. It was messed up, and he didn't know how people who'd done this by themselves hadn't gone mad. Saruhiko grounded him, and Yata was seriously grateful.

And yet even without a clock or time table, he felt they'd come to some sort of designated stop as the land evened out into the flat and desolate wasteland ahead of them. Creepy. It was almost like they were back at the start, right before the tombs, where everything was gray and empty. Yata shivered, no, it was definitely not comforting.

They'd been sitting there a while, unsure of how to move forward. His hands were gripped on Saruhiko's forearm as the other took a rest, body having caved now that they'd finally reached flat land, and Yata finally managed to pry his clenched hands off of him.

_Ouch_...

His hands had cramped up from helping Saruhiko walk the last mile or so on the pathway, or at least, he told himself he was just helping Saruhiko. In truth, as they'd ventured further towards the artificial horizon to find their path from the boneyard, the temperature had dropped something severe, the frigidness causing him to clutch the other for warmth. He'd mostly gotten used to it at that point, but he figured had he been alive, he'd surely be dead from the cold. He stretched out his hands with a wince, watching them flex absentmindedly, his knuckles popping from the release. Yata stood up then, moving a hand to shield his eyes as a gust of wind blew through the air, the sting achingly familiar.

"No..." Saruhiko's voice was hoarse as he finally answered, but he didn't seem as worn out as before, finally standing steady as he squinted. The taller reached out almost mechanically, grabbing Yata's hands to soothe the quakes which still disturbed them, and soon the jolts became small trembles under the other's rough hands. The relief it brought was becoming a drug at this point, a fix he needed, and one which if he could've bottled up, would surely be named after the taller. It coursed through him, the conviction, as the fabric bandaging Saruhiko's wounds pressed against his skin. Saruhiko's eyes were homed in on Yata's, a mere moment of focus in which Yata felt as if they were connected by thought, unmarred by anxiety or discomfort. He remembered then, how he almost felt like it was fate he'd met Saruhiko, it had to be! It was something about him, how even as closed off as Saruhiko was, Yata wanted to know more and more. He returned the stare fondly as his hands finally calmed completely, instead wrapping around the taller's with care as he felt the wounds which hadn't been covered. Words didn't feel needed as the moment stretched on, like time had slowed in order for Saruhiko's feelings to sync up with his own, and Yata didn't quite know what that meant. Or, maybe he did, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Or shit, was he just imagining it all?

No, he doubted it. All he knew was the expression of 'I'm glad you're here,' was something he felt through his whole body, a split second of inordinate bliss.

But he guessed it couldn't have lasted, no matter how much he wanted it to.

"The path stops up ahead," Saruhiko managed to say above the wind, and Yata turned to look at where he was pointing.

_Huh_...

Saruhiko was right, the black cobblestone which he'd become so familiar with cut off abruptly in the distance, or so it seemed.  _Maybe it's another cliff or something._..

Yata really hoped not, his hands couldn't take much more tearing. Or maybe this was the trial, and they had to figure some kind of riddle out like in the movies!

Yata's fascination with that was born and then perished almost a second later. Right, but this wasn't a movie, and no kind of stupid riddle was going to get them back to their lives.

Really, Yata wasn't going to be able to watch action or adventure films at all after this, it sucked.

_Fuck, stop it! Focus!_

"W-what do you think it is?"

Saruhiko didn't respond, just began to walk slowly forward, guiding Yata with him for a few silent, tense minutes as they closed the distance between them and the end of the path. As they walked, Yata could swear he felt the wind dying down, the whistling of it giving way to...a dripping sound. Water.

Saruhiko halted, and there was the end. Or, he guess he should call it, the rest of the path.

At their feet lay a large, black gash in the earth, a crevice which he couldn't see the contents of. It seemed to drop though, like a rabbit hole, but he wasn't sure.

The trickling sound was louder now, most definitely water dripping from something, so obviously there had to be a floor. But...

The darkness and uncertainty unnerved him, the trials had all capitalized on that aspect too. No sight. Not good. Those were the associations he'd made, and he felt the anxiety inside him flare up.

This was it, he didn't know what it was, but this was the trial. So close...

He swallowed as Saruhiko cautiously kneeled down to peer inside, as if that would help, and Yata instinctively clutched his hand tighter, like something would come up and pull the other away.

Nothing did, much to his relief, but they still hadn't made any progress. Yata had no clue how to approach this other than the obvious, which was to dive right in and get it over with. Not comforting...

The gash radiated cold air and smelled musty and damp. It reminded him of the mountains or coves, things which usually were cool and pleasant for him. He sighed at that, oh how so many things had been ruined for him. As Saruhiko turned to him though, he couldn't help but feel grateful for the one thing he did gain.

"Misaki, I need a light."

The phrase itself just about kicked him out of the numbness he felt. Saruhiko's eyes were on him, determined, the blue just as intense and striking as it had been when they'd first met.

What was he so afraid of, when he had those eyes on him?

The thought made him crack a small smile, and Saruhiko's puzzled expression had him fighting back a laugh.

They were fine. Saruhiko needed him, Saruhiko was doing this with him, and nothing would stop them. Delaying the trial wouldn't help, and either way, he'd gladly face what was next. One step closer...

With that in mind, Yata looked into the blackness, set his jaw, and leaned forward.

\--

When he'd been alive, Yata had loved the outdoors, any type of hiking or running or exertion in which he felt energized and invincible. He'd always wanted to go to national parks from all sorts of countries, explore the caves (as long as he could see, because the dark was  _not_ fun), climb the steep inclines and reach the top of the highest mountains. Maybe it was silly, especially since before he'd died, his biggest worry was having enough savings for the power bill than a plane ticket. Still...the thought never left him.

Once, he'd gone with a friend who'd been studying archaeology on a special trip to tour some caves and ruins, and it had been the coolest thing ever! It hadn't helped to end any fascination he had with caverns and things alike, and he'd always said he'd explore a lot more when he was older, more successful.

But...now...

He wasn't so sure about exploring.

They'd long passed their point of entry, the gash in the ground which, upon heading down, revealed a sloping rock which they had slid down. He could probably compare it closest to that wonderland movie...he'd watched it at some point with his siblings. What was the character’s name?

_Alice_.

That's how he felt, like when Alice fell down that hole and it seemed to go on and on. Only...it was less fun looking, dreary and quiet,  _dark_. There weren't bright colors and shapes, only blackness and the fear of the unknown because really, as he slid down the slope further down, he had no idea what was at the bottom. He didn't bother using his aura either, too afraid to waste more energy.

Yata was always someone who relied on his senses, used his body to react, but all he had to guide him was the cold dampness of the rock, and Saruhiko's hands latched on his arm.

_Yeah, at least Saruhiko is here._

Even now that they were walking on stable ground with bursts of red aura to guide them, entry point far behind, Yata repeated that himself. In fact, he felt as if he'd experienced the sentiment so many times over the course of the journey, and each time, it never ceased to help.

_Yeah, because Saruhiko is my friend._

He flushed, stumbling a bit as they walked, because no...that didn't feel right, and he knew it.

"Misaki, I can't see," Saruhiko said, and Yata jumped, realizing he'd let his arm hang too low.

"S-sorry!" He brought his hand up, and the crimson light bounced off the dark rock. The cave was huge, but he felt caged in. The ceilings were high, but as they reached the top, they seemed to curve inward, like a bird cage of some kind. At least, that's how most...sections were. Otherwise, the layout had been inconsistent, the ground ranging from flat to extremely difficult to walk on. While there was no indication of ramps or inclines, Yata still had the unnerving feeling that they were walking farther and farther down.

It didn't help that they were both on edge. They'd hardly talked since descending into the cave initially, too concerned with what was possibly down there.

Yata swallowed. There was always something waiting, and he hated it. It was always a battle, being anxious and fearful while also buzzing with the instinct to fight and protect. At least he wasn't alone there either.

Saruhiko was being extra diligent about it too, guiding Yata's hand like a torch by the arm to scan about, eyes narrowed in suspicion. In any other situation, Yata might've been nervous about the close contact, but at this point, with everything that had happened...

No, Saruhiko didn't make him nervous anymore, only made him feel strong and safe, and he was pretty sure the other felt the same way about him. Of course he basically knew what that meant, but how to go about saying it was nerve wracking. 

_B-besides, it's not really the time!_

Right, he should focu--

"Ow!"

Smooth.

Yata clutched at his shin, wincing as the subtle throbbing died down until it became nothing more than a dull ache. Nothing major, but aggravating all the same. Not to mention it gave Yata a fucking heart attack  _damn_.

Judging from how Saruhiko's stance had shifted into one of intimidation, the sudden action had scared him as well. Yata looked to where he had tripped, illuminating the floor as Saruhiko crouched down beside him, relaxing a bit.

"Sorry, I was too focused on everywhere else to look at the ground," Saruhiko said, more than a little irritable.

"Don't worry! I'm just glad it wasn't some kind of monster or something!"

Saruhiko hummed low in affirmation, but reached forward to guide Yata's hand over the floor. When he'd tripped, there'd been a loud clank, like whatever he'd hit had skidded a ways away.

Come to think of it, whatever had hit his shin on had felt pretty cold, but not like a rock exactly...

It felt like...

"It's--"

_Metal_.

"A trumpet?"

Yup, now this place officially made no sense.

It wasn't the ghost relatives, or the monster, no. The trumpet.

Surely enough, the old and tarnished brass instrument sat a few feet away, dented all over and hardly having any leftover shine to it. It had seen better days.

_But what the fuck?_

"A trumpet."

"Actually Misaki, I think that's a french h--"

"I don't give a fuck what it is!" Yata was past the point of trying to be quiet. Whatever the next trial was, he welcomed it. "What is it doing here?!"

He missed being given straightforward obstacles really, because if this was some sort of riddle, he was screwed.

_Maybe it's magic._

Cautiously, Saruhiko walked forward to pick the item up, examining it for anything special or telling, but no, it was really just a broken instrument.

_Um_...

"Hey Saru, maybe the angel guy ran out of ideas and now we gotta hit things with the trumpet!"

"French h--"

"I don't care!"

"Either way," Saruhiko went on, eyeing the brass critically as his hands lightly dusted it off. The scraping sound made Yata want to plug his ears. "I don't think it's of any use to us. Unless you know someone by the name of W-Walker S.?"

"Huh? Why?"

He certainly didn't know anyone personally with such a western name, couldn't even recall a movie star or foreign celebrity that rang any bells.

"The name engraved on this, that's what it says."

Yata stood up finally from his floor position, leaning against Saruhiko to see the faint name scratched into the instrument. To say the least, he was confused. Why was some dude's random shit lying in the middle of the cave?

"It looks like it was fancy," Saruhiko said, mostly to himself. "Back when it was new at least."

"But, why is it here?"

Saruhiko only shook his head, but Yata knew the expression he wore. Saruhiko's mind was working, cogs turning as he went through the possibilities. Yata grinned confidently as Saruhiko's eyebrows knit together. Even with the simplest and stupidest information, Saruhiko tried to use it to his advantage, and Yata felt something inside him twist pleasantly as he stared at the taller.

Yeah, Saruhiko sure was smart.

As if an idea had popped into his head, an inference, Saruhiko grabbed Yata's hand, forcing the small embers in the direction to their left. Yata was confused at first, because really they should keep going forward, there was no other opening, but as he was about to voice the observation, his eyes found the jagged edge of the wall. Except it wasn't a wall.

_It's a corner._

It was like the light bulb went off in their heads. Something was always hidden, and it might not be important at the end of it, but any kind of clue was helpful.

They walked forward the twenty or so feet, coming to the corner which rounded into a narrower path before widening again into what was probably another room of the cavern.

It might have been the formation, but they both felt curious, could both sense the tension and eeriness radiating from the place. They weren't going to back down or avoid it though, in the end nothing could be avoided in this place anyways if it was meant to be. Might as well meet things head on.

The curiosity only intensified upon casting a light onto the floor of the pathway, revealing more objects which seemed to stand out against the bleak rock.

A pacifier, a tattered blanket, some books, a bible, a pocket watch...

Broken, random things which made about as much sense as the french horn Saruhiko had carelessly let fall from his hands, causing a clang to echo through the walls. If there really was something in this place, it definitely should've found them by now.

Yata exhaled a breath he hadn't remembered holding, mechanically walking a bit forward to pick up the pacifier, and for whatever reason, he felt like crying.

It didn't make sense, but the emotion swept over him as his fingertips danced over the cheap plastic. It was worn, but still had the designs of flowers cleanly etched onto it, like it hadn't really been used much before ending up down here, and the thought made something inside him sink. He brought it closer to his face with a shaking hand, looking back to Saruhiko in an attempt to get help, as if maybe the taller would know what to do.

Yata held it out, and Saruhiko wordlessly reached forward, finger hooking through the small ring, before he let it tumble to the ground with a gasp.

Yata wasn't so sure about this anymore. It shouldn't have meant anything, the french horn, the pacifier, all the shit on the ground, but it felt important, and he almost felt rude for standing there. The room, only ten or so feet ahead, radiating somberness more than before.

"Um..." Yata looked at Saruhiko, searched his eyes for the calculations, the ideas, but there were none. They may have been more confident about things now sure, but stuff like this always reminded Yata how little they actually knew about this place, about death.

They stood for only a few more moments, Saruhiko taking the first steps forward so he was directly behind Yata. There wasn't enough room for them to walk side by side until the passage widened.

The quiet felt alive somehow in that moment, consuming them, not allowing words to make it out, and all Yata could think to do was move forward, because surely there were worse things they still had to see.

\--

Before Saruhiko had scored his job at the software company, he'd packed boxes and reviewed shipments for a large department store at a warehouse. It included lazy coworkers, a nerdy orange vest, a clipboard, and required below average intelligence. It was a part time job, something he'd only planned on doing for a few months while he looked for a position within his field, especially since most of his friends had already scored jobs at the office he had applied to. It was only a matter of time. Hell, Enomoto had already been setting up a desk for him, and he hadn't gotten a call back yet.

The rows of merchandise, clothing, furniture, and appliances seemed to stretch on endlessly. Saruhiko couldn't believe people would eventually buy up the whole inventory. The hundreds of kitchen table sets, the infinite number of desk lamps...His clipboard made it all seem so minuscule, grouping every item into a category with the appropriate check boxes. Machines and delivery trucks would come pick them up in bulk, carrying them to the designated stores and home shows, and yet the warehouse was always full, never seeming any less empty as Saruhiko walked around, dutifully accounting for every piece. Maybe it wasn't as excessive as he had thought though, back then.

Yeah back then, he had no idea what 'excessive' truly meant.

What lay in front of him now, was endless. This is what an infinite amount of items genuinely looked like.

The room they were in was still encased by dark cave walls, but otherwise it was by no means normal, and he was pretty sure he was gaping.

It was filled to the brim with a ton of objects, everything ranging from things which resembled old relics to books he'd seen in stores, modern appliances and jewelry. Lockets, strollers, expensive canes, cookbooks, anything he could've imagined, yet so random and insignificant he was left stunned. 

All these things, they didn't mean anything, but they radiated importance and feelings so potent he almost choked.

"W-what...is this?" Misaki stepped forward, cautiously picking up an old teapot, and flinching when the handle broke off and caused the thing to shatter at his feet. The redhead jumped back, and it was like death swept calmly over the room. Misaki dropped the handle instantly, like it had harmed him, and scooted as far away as he could from the mountains of items. It was hard, considering there were mostly surrounding apart from the exit.

Saruhiko couldn't wrap his head around it, couldn't start to theorize or infer about anything, too overcome with the suffocating aura around them.

It was as if nothing could pierce the atmosphere.

"It's what it looks like."

Almost nothing.

They turned, and Saruhiko heard Misaki choke a little, but he didn't have much time to be amused at the fact.

There was a light clack of heels on the rock, as well as the light scrape of something being accidentally stepped on, and then she was facing them head on, only a few feet away. How he hadn't noticed her before, he wasn't sure.

She was intense, that's what Saruhiko observed first. It was probably because of the eyes, light green which shone against pale skin and a fine bone structure, the sharp features framed by waves of blonde hair tied with a bow. She wasn't all that tall, probably just shorter than Misaki even, but she didn't seem it. Her stature, the power she radiated, it made her tower over them, only made to look small over the mountains upon mountains of items around them.

She vaguely reminded Saruhiko of Seri, but no, Seri may have been authoritative and professional when it was called for, but she didn't radiate such...supremacy.

It made Saruhiko squint, but he was intrigued nonetheless. This was the first human like person they'd seen since Totsuka after all...

Misaki on the other hand, was avoiding looking at the woman completely, face flushed, and unintelligible muttering slipping through his lips. Saruhiko didn't even feel like teasing, definitely not a good sign.

Saruhiko figured it was best to get this over with. The woman didn't necessarily look dangerous, but the taller didn't miss the blades which were lying a few feet behind her.

_Guard up, always._

"Forgive us if we're a bit too shaken up to see the obvious," Saruhiko replied, not even slightly genuine. It didn't seem to register with the woman, or maybe she just didn't care. The taller wouldn't give her the liberty of directing him into this though. He was getting impatient, and all he wanted was to move forward. "Who are you?"

Saruhiko was thankful that she didn't seem fond of wasting time either. Misaki tensed up beside him as she sighed, gaze penetrating.

"I guess, Hirasaka Douhan is best. It's not useful information for you to know, but I'm the guardian of attachments and ambition," she said, his eyelids lowering in the slightest hint of irritation, like the title was as dumb as it sounded.

"You don't sound so convinced."

Her expression softened, like she hadn't expected him to notice, and nodded curtly. "It...doesn't fit me well, a bit of a joke in my opinion. It's a boring job with nothing to gain, but maybe that's why it was my punishment more than a promotion. I have to thank you though, I never see people make it this far. I'm glad there's something to entertain me."

_This_ far. He put that question on the back burner in his head. He was still sort of stuck on the word 'guardian.' He backtracked, going over her words in his head and really analyzed them, noting how Misaki shot him a confused look after thinking to himself as well.

_Right. Think._

Attachment and ambition were concepts, but not really what he'd have guessed to be important enough to need a deity, if that's what she could be called. Abstract things like ambition, love, and all sorts of others played a role in the human condition (at least that's what he'd learned), so perhaps it wasn't too shocking. It was more the realization that there were other players besides Munakata and Mikoto in the afterlife that had him wondering how much control the two really had. This woman, Hirasaka Douhan, how did she end up here? Saruhiko almost wished he could collect all the information about this place, create the ultimate cheat guide to death and the afterlife, but he suspected it was a lot more complicated than necessary, and not worth the effort. No one would believe any of this crap unless they experienced it themselves.

Douhan probably wasn't as important as Munakata and Mikoto, that much he could guess, but she had to be essential in some way. Who knew the underworld would consist of checks and balances, and if it was true, what others were there, and how did they come to be? He supposed those were just the mysteries that simple humans would never know the answers to.

In this moment, it wasn't important to him, so he disregarded it all in favor of focusing on what she would mean for their situation.

"U-um," Misaki finally managed to force out, still not looking at the deity in front of them in favor of the ground. "Where are we? W-what is this sh--stuff?"

She shrugged, way less proper than Munakata, yet not as careless as Mikoto. What a contrast, it seemed she would only be explaining things shortly, and only when asked. "We just call it the registry." And there was that  _we_ again. This was going to be annoying.

"Registry?"

"Every time someone dies, we have to keep track of it. The higher ups file it away, keeping tabs on the cause of death and other details of the person's life. Since you're here, I'm sure you already know that."

The image of the waiting room, of the white haired young man who glided across the infinite rows of files, flashed through Saruhiko's mind. Absentmindedly, he watched Misaki hesitantly approach a pile again, picking up a stuffed animal which let loose a good amount of dust. Saruhiko's stomach twisted uncomfortably, like his mind had connected the dots enough to have a clear picture of where they were.  _Keeping track of..._

"However, my coworkers and I keep tabs on things a little differently."

_Yeah, not good._

Misaki seemed to get the implied meaning as well, without having to continue, judging by how his fists tightened around the animal.

Douhan simply continued, like it was business as usual. "When someone passes, an object which they held as significant in their life is placed here."

_To rot._

Misaki gasped, clutching the toy tighter in what was most likely shock. Saruhiko couldn't say he felt any different. Though he usually tried to not worry about such things, or preoccupy himself with concern for those he didn't know, he recognized the 'registry' as something unintentionally (he  _assumed_ ) cruel. Also...now everything seemed much more personal, more pitiful than he was really used to experiencing. Old glasses, books, toys, things which belonged to people who had met their end, banished to a dark, cold cave to never be seen again. What was the point of it? It seemed almost malicious, throwing items which people had held special into a giant mess where they no longer stood out apart from the millions of others. Tons of baby blankets, hundreds of books, instruments...All personal, all turned pathetic.

"It's a graveyard." It was the closest thing he could think of, but no, in truth it was probably worse. More like a mass grave.

"It's impractical is what it is." Douhan crossed her arms in front of her, glancing out across the infinite piles like she had grown used to them long ago. "It's a waste of space and we don't benefit from it. We could keep track of deaths a million other ways, but my associate insisted on being sentimental. Something about 'preservation in the face of change' or something similar." She paused then, like she was thinking, reforming her words in her head. "Hanging onto the old...it's never been like him. Maybe in a way this is in his character though, so I take what I said back. He's banishing the past to this sad little place. I don't appreciate being stuck as the caretaker though."

_Preservation in the face of change...bullshit._

"That sounds like crap."

"It's messed up," Misaki's voice mumbled into the air, and Saruhiko noticed he was still clutching the toy, glaring at it with the same strength he used before fighting. "What kind of shit is that?"

Not really knowing what else to do, Saruhiko walked over to Misaki's hunched position, ghosting the tips of his fingers over his shoulder as he continued to speak to the blonde. Death of the old and sick was one thing, but Saruhiko could tell when it came to children, Misaki was particularly sensitive. "It does seem like a bit too much."

"Maybe, but it's my job, and I can't refuse." Douhan turned away from them, walking back towards a rock so she could take a seat. "It's unfair, in my life I would never do anything for free, but death makes us all pay. I suggest you move on quickly so you can live again as soon as possible."

Well, that was the goal, and Saruhiko would've gladly left her right then, not wanting to prolong this adventure more than he had to. But of course, nothing was so simple. There had to be a reason they were here. It wouldn't exist otherwise, and he'd learned regardless that things down here rarely happened by chance.

"What was the point then?"

Douhan's eyes snapped up to meet his, not surprised but...resigned, like she didn't want to answer but she knew eventually she had to.

"Excuse me?"

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, something he hadn't done in a while, but the familiarity definitely wasn't making him feel better. "Why bring us here to see this? If it's not a trial, what's the point?"

Misaki stood up at his words, dropping the stuffed animal slowly as they waited. The toy plopped softly, a small puff of dust coming from it.

"Oh. It's a reminder, I guess."

It was there again, subtle, but there, the irritation set on her face. Vaguely, Saruhiko wondered what kind of person she had been in life, for her to be so upset. She was a deity, an all knowing being of human attachment and ambition, yet it appeared it hadn't been voluntary.

"Reminder?" Misaki's voice was hesitant, but at least he'd gotten over the embarrassment from before, the anger from moments before overpowering all else.

Douhan sighed, reaching up to mess with the bow atop her head. "My associate believes that it's necessary for you to have a reality check before continuing on. I don't see the point though, obviously the fact that you're this far in the journey must mean you already have resolve."

Resolve. The word made him think back to the start of all this, to his disdain and reluctance, the denial and fear he'd felt before getting to know Misaki, before really embracing himself, as stupid as it sounded. Resolve had been something he'd always lacked, but hearing about it now, he had no doubt he possessed it, would have to, to be crazy enough to believe he could make it out of this.

"But...well, maybe it is wise for you to get a good sense of the magnitude of death as a whole, not just your own." She hesitated then, biting her lip to contain a bitter smile, before the stoic nature was back, final and intense.

"Don't ignore this, look around, take it in. It's best not to be careless from this point on, don't take your chances for granted. It's foolish not to attain your goals, to not achieve the benefits. Many people, better people than you and me have met their ends, some very untimely, without the chance to do as much." Douhan pointed to the heaps calmly, and they couldn't help but follow her hand. "It would be useless for you to forget that. You're right, this is a graveyard. Don't become part of it too soon."

\--

She walked with them, following silently behind them as they explored the mess. They avoided stepping on any of the items, especially Misaki, mostly out of respect for the owners.

"If you see anything useful, there's no rule that says you cannot take it. It will be returned here regardless." Douhan's voice had a gentler edge to it, like she could read the atmosphere between them. Her words may have well been for nothing though, because no way did he want to take anything from this place.

For one, whenever they touched something, the emotions of the previous owner flooded into them, and that was certainly would not be pleasant for a prolonged period of time, and well...

"I don't want to take anything without permission," Misaki whispered, stepping over a set of old books.

The blonde didn't reply, understanding the underlying meaning there. Taking things which had once been important to someone else, it felt like it added more insult to injury. Saruhiko didn't believe much in karma or anything similar, but it creeped him out enough for him to avoid it.

He was basically ready to go. There was no point for them to be there if they weren't going to take anything, but maybe they were curious, or maybe they were just thankful for the slight break. Saruhiko was walking behind Misaki, letting him do most of the navigating. The redhead's shoulders were tense, his gaze searching, analyzing everything in a way that was rare to see outside of threatening situations.

Saruhiko felt a bit out of his element. Misaki was so emotional and stiff because it was a sentimental place, full of personal belongings and attachments. The redhead was naturally predisposed to feel empathy, but Saruhiko was not. It wasn't completely nonexistent, but it made him feel awkward and comfortable, so he wanted to shy away. All the people who had died, represented by these miscellaneous things, he had no connection to them, no reason to mourn. Yet, he was no different than them. One day, he'd be nothing more than an item in a registry, a reminder.

For once, something unpleasant itched inside him at the thought of being so forgettable.

"I wonder what ours will be," Misaki spoke up, and Saruhiko's head snapped up to find him. The shorter had stopped now, at the foot of one of the bigger hills of things, in front of a few CDs, a jewelry box, and a pile of wedding rings. "I can't think of anything, I mean there's my paintings...and stuff from my mom and siblings but I dunno..."

_Something significant...something one holds dear...._

Now that he had to think about it, Saruhiko couldn't picture it either. What did he even use in his daily life that was important? His laptop. No, that couldn't be it. Yet all the 'sentimental' things didn't feel great enough. If he didn't complete this journey, what would characterize him in an eternal tomb?

"I don't know either."

"It would be impressive if you did," Douhan said, turning her head towards the way they'd come from, back to the path they'd eventually need to resume on. "But if I were you, I wouldn't worry about it. I'd only hope I wouldn't find out for a long time."

Saruhiko was pleased to see Misaki actually crack a smile at that, the one which spoke nothing but determination, and Saruhiko thought vaguely that yes, they wouldn't know for a long  _long_ time.

"Right!" Misaki walked up to him, tugging lightly on Saruhiko's wrist to turn him around. ah, so it was time to go after all. No more breaks. "We still have lots of time!"

Saruhiko didn't pull away or scoff as the redhead dragged him forward, too focused on the warmth and unlikely truth of the words.

As they trekked back towards the beginning, Douhan led them along a slightly less cluttered route, and Saruhiko noticed the section of the room held items a bit more dated, lots of them before his time or no longer used. It was interesting, seeing attachments across lifetimes, all equated in death.

Misaki gasped at some of the older looking relics for reasons Saruhiko wasn't aware of, though maybe they just looked cool. The redhead was muttering things under his breath as well, but Saruhiko was too busy taking in everything to pay much attention to the gibberish.

Something twinkled in Saruhiko's peripheral vision, and he stopped, turning to see a few items which stood out on the side of the room. For one, they were seated upon a flat slab, like they were somehow more important than the rest, and they looked less beaten up than the others.

He'd halted, and the blonde leading them noticed, turning to watch Saruhiko analyze the slab. "We keep those separate for...historical purposes."

Historical purposes was as shitty as it got when it came to reasons, but Saruhiko didn't feel the need to ask in that moment.

"What are they?" Misaki followed after the taller, looking across the objects. Some were old gold coins, armor, and other similar things which may as well have come right out of a history museum. However, it was two items in particular that seemed to stand out the most, one of which had Saruhiko's fingers itching. The first was a pair of sapphire cuff links, shiny and obviously crafted with a lot of care, and the other...

His eyes homed in on them, and well, it was almost embarrassing, but he'd never gotten over his fascination with them. Atop the slab sat a pair of exquisite throwing knives, obviously expensive and well made, and his hands reached up.

"Saruhiko?" Misaki watched as the taller approached the slab, and Saruhiko turned to make sure touching them was okay and not a death sentence. Douhan nodded, a bit amused, and Saruhiko was thankful for the green light.

Saruhiko held the daggers, sleek and jagged, like a pro, despite his lack of practice in the past five years. He'd never used these kind of throwing knives either, so his aim was probably shit, but at least his reflexes were somewhat sharp and he had a basic knowledge of how to handle them. He twirled the knives effortlessly, liking the feel of cool metal and weightlessness. As depressing as his life had felt before the age of eighteen, learning the rare skill had given him a sense of peace and stability, if only for a moment in the tumultuous time. Looking back on it now made him feel weird, like he was in some cheesy book where he was reflecting on how far he'd come. He didn't know about all that, but the knives did make him feel more put together. 

What was more rewarding than finding the knives themselves was the look on Misaki's face. It was on of admiration and amazement, a gaze Saruhiko was definitely not used to being the focus of, but he couldn't hate it in the slightest. But soon, the wide eyed look twitched, morphing into one of confusion as the amber pools began to analyze the daggers in a way Saruhiko had never seen before. It was as if...Misaki was calculating some sort of problem.

It was annoying, not the look itself, but the fact that it made heat rush to Saruhiko's face like a switch had been flipped.

It...was definitely not a bad look.

"Hey Saru...those daggers...can I see?" Misaki's voice sounded eager, his hands already reaching up towards the other's hands. 

Saruhiko actually hesitated from the intensity in those eyes, like Misaki had cracked some kind of code Saruhiko hadn't been aware of, and wordlessly, the taller slid the daggers carefully into the other's hands, feeling the callouses brush over his skin and linger a bit too long.

"T-thanks!" Misaki's flush probably mirrored his own, Saruhiko figured.

Shaking off whatever thoughts were in his head, Misaki's eyes focused on the daggers, examining them closely with nimble fingers, impressive considering all he'd put those hands through. Still, he was delicate, treating them like an ancient relic which could crumble in his palms at any moment, never to be seen again. The redhead's thumb moved gently over the handle of the blade, focusing on the insignia which was etched into it.

Saruhiko didn't recognize it, he'd figured it was some sort of foreign brand or a personal touch from the previous owner, but paying closer attention...

It was the size of a small coin, and resembled a family seal, not unlike those put on official documents and letters. With the majority of the blade being black and grey, it shone red, the small design, which Saruhiko could now distinguish as a flame of some sort, stood out proudly on the dark material. The flames curled elegantly, reminding him of the ones on Misaki's fingertips, but otherwise, Saruhiko couldn't see why Misaki was so entranced by it.

Maybe he just thought it looked--

"Suoh Dynasty."

Saruhiko squinted, caught off guard by the sudden declaration, only to be robbed of all air by the triumphant expression on the other's face.  _The...what?_

"Huh?"

Misaki grinned, eyes going wider as he pushed the dagger into Saruhiko's field of vision, pointing to the insignia. "It's from the Suoh Dynasty! I studied history remember...mm...but--this wasn't my favorite period but, it was cool! Er..."

_Yet you still managed to date it._

Saruhiko felt strangely warm, and he didn't like it. Or, he didn't really know how he felt about it.

Misaki was not fazed by the hand Saruhiko brought up to cover his own mouth. The taller could feel some sort of unwarranted grin coming on, and no way was he going to let that slip. The redhead just kept nodding to himself, too swept up in the discovery to notice the taller's actions right away.

_Ah right, a response._

"So it's old?"

"Well...duh," Misaki said, bringing a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "It's not really important but it's just kinda cool! That kingdom was known for making weapons and being a main trading post and stuff, but not many artifacts are left anymore."

Saruhiko grabbed the dagger curiously, twirling it easily between his fingers. _So it's rare huh?_

He noticed Misaki's excited expression, and damn, the warmth wouldn't go away. It wasn't as if he thought Misaki was dumb anymore, but seeing him showcase the fact was something else.

Saruhiko did his best to focus. He glanced back to the blade in his hand, watched the insignia glisten with a quality that didn't suit a supposed relic. Then there was the feeling too...The daggers weren't too different from everything else in the room, when he focused on it, all the emotions trapped inside it flowed into him, and he shivered. Whoever had owned these had felt many things, but the main ones were rage, calm, and anguish. An interesting mix, and one Saruhiko didn't feel like experiencing longer than he had to. He set it down on the rock again. "Why did the kingdom die out?"

Misaki perked up, thinking to himself. "It just kinda happened? Shit, I hated this test question, there's a lot to it...but basically the crown prince disappeared and was never found, and then there was a war for...whatever it's called...succession!"

"Unfortunately," Douhan interrupted, drawing their attention back. "Those are the only items you can't take."

"For historical purposes?"

He didn't miss the way her lips twitched upwards a little. "For 'keeping my job' purposes. It's either this or having to associate with the others, and while this is boring, it's not torture."

A shame. The daggers were the only things Saruhiko actually would've found useful.

"But," she spoke again, reaching into her pack to rummage through it. A few questionable things spilled out, darts, unlabeled vials, some regular knives, a mishmash of weaponry.

He almost considered asking why a deity such as herself needed all that stuff, but for some reason he felt it wasn't the best idea. Eventually, she pulled out two sleek, silver handled daggers, and held them forward, locking eyes with Saruhiko. "If you think they'd be of help, you can have mine."

\--

There was a weak feeling of encouragement in Douhan's goodbye. She hadn't exactly said ' do your best' or 'stay strong,' but she'd bowed to them, and told them to keep their guard up.

It was like she knew what was coming, and if Saruhiko thought about it, she probably did. Misaki had stuttered a thank you, and they'd left her behind. Saruhiko could tell Misaki had a lot of unanswered questions for her, but ones which weren't necessary to their task or journey, so they were saved. Misaki had bit his tongue, blushing and dumbly declaring how they'd be victorious and that their items would be 'super cool' in sixty or seventy years, and she'd better not forget it. Saruhiko had clicked his tongue, dragging the other away. The goodbye was pretty useless in his mind. Besides, Saruhiko had a feeling they would see her again.

But, not for a long time.

Until then, his ultimate cheat guide for death and the afterlife would have to wait. At the thought, Saruhiko clutched Douhan's knives in his palm.

They walked deeper into the cave, and for once, Saruhiko felt like they weren't in the middle of a perilous journey. He asked Misaki more about his history knowledge, about what his favorite eras were, about the relics he'd been muttering about, and in return Misaki commented on his skills with the daggers, about what he thought his item would be if he had to guess. They talked and talked, sometimes about stupid things, frivolous things too light for the situation they were in, but it all felt so natural, being with Misaki.

Misaki had been in the middle of telling a particularly embarrassing story from his high school days, which Saruhiko couldn't help but snort at as Misaki lost his voice to laughter and yelling on behalf of his humiliation, and their voices had eventually faded out into the silence.

It was comfortable at first, a normal, cozy quiet which didn't hold any dread or fear. But of course, that couldn't last.

Saruhiko hadn't noticed the change at first, too preoccupied with the warmth surging through him to pay attention to Misaki's steps becoming slower, until he was lagging behind.

But Saruhiko realized Misaki must've been looking at him, he could  _feel_ it, the familiar warmth of the gaze burning at the back of his head, and he spun to meet the eyes with his own when he realized the other wasn't beside him. As lame as it was, it was exhilarating each time, because with so much emotion locked in those irises, he didn't know what to expect. It made him anxious, excited too, what would it be, how would Misaki be looking at him?

Saruhiko met the gaze, and felt his entire body stiffen. There was something he'd realized along the journey with the redhead, and it was that he was gradually beginning to pinpoint even the most complex emotions locked in his expressions. He didn't always understand them, but this time there was no confusing it, and all Saruhiko could think was,  _ah, so something's not right._

Misaki's face was confused, on edge, and he kept tilting his head back and forth, as if straining for...

"Hey...what's that noise?" Misaki's eyes roamed frantically about their surroundings, voice more hushed than before, on guard, and Saruhiko almost thought the redhead might've been losing it. That face though... "There! Saruhiko listen!"

_What_ \--

But then there it was. It was so faint, and at first, it barely registered over the sound of dripping water. Saruhiko had to strain to hear it, but once he did, it seemed it was the only thing he was aware of. It was a light, flapping sound, clumsy and getting quicker by the second. As it sped up, it was amplified by the cave's walls, deafening. As if it was something coming towards them rapidly.

He tensed immediately, shifting a step closer to Misaki. No, he couldn't lose sight of him in this place in the face of the unknown.  _But what is it now?_

Saruhiko combed his mind for answers, but instinct took over, and that instinct was panic. There were the obvious guesses of course.  _Birds? Some sort of aerial attack?_  But in the end, nothing mattered over the fact the noise presented a potential danger. It wouldn't be out of the question, given what they'd been through, who knew what other creatures existed in this place.

_Damn it._

One trial right after the next...he was foolish to think they'd be allowed a rest. "Misaki, a light!"

The knife had slid into his palm before he'd even finished the sentence. Was his aim even that great anymore? He could only hope. He looked at Misaki, the split second agreement they always shared. 'I've got your back.'

Misaki glared upwards into the darkness, hand illuminating the air above them as the approaching sounds seemed to reach a high point, and then--

Silence.

It had stopped, and Saruhiko nearly choked on the sharp intake of breath he'd taken in preparation for...

_For what_...?

Both of them searched the ceiling of the cave above them, every noticeable crevice, Misaki illuminating every shadow. There was nothing there. Nothing visible, but, maybe assuming it would be had been his mistake. Saruhiko felt a different sensation on the back of his neck, cold, calculating. It wasn't the same as when Misaki stared, but it was still coming from behind him.  _Shit!_ Saruhiko rushed his next actions, but he'd realized it too late. He managed to gasp, grabbing Misaki by the arm to spin them both around until they were facing the end of the path. Unaware of what else to do or what he was about to see, he raised the knife, just as Misaki lit up the space around them.

All panic nearly died within him...sort of. It was replaced with puzzlement and maybe even...annoyance. Oh how he'd missed being able to feel that emotion so wholeheartedly.

In front of them, perched calmly on a slab of rock, was a parrot. A fucking parrot.

Saruhiko felt a spectrum of emotions in that moment, maybe more than he had in his entire life, and none were pleasant.

"The...hell?" Misaki seemed to feel the same, but regardless, he pushed harder into Saruhiko's back, always prepared for the worst.

_Right, maybe it's a disguise of some sort..._

There was a loud, sudden squawk, something Saruhiko might've recognized from a cheesy pirate movie, not nearly as majestic as the sound of gulls or hawks. It shattered the tense atmosphere, the stupid noise the bird made, and Saruhiko dropped his arm and the knife.

Both he and Misaki exhaled, stepping a few steps back from the strange, oddly perched animal, not yet taking their eyes of it.

It was a bird but...

"Why is it staring like that?" Misaki had a point. The creature was...upsetting somehow. Not exactly in a threatening or violent way, but it was creepily focused on them, the unblinking blue eyes squinting almost in judgement. Saruhiko couldn't tell for sure either, but there was something almost smug in its gaze, if that was even possible. He might've chastised himself for the childish thought, it was a dumb bird after all, but...

"Ch, that damn thing is creeping me out!" Misaki shouted, waving a cautious hand in front of the bird in an effort to scare it away. "Shoo! Fucking move! Move!" Misaki had resorted to stomping his feet at that point, and the taller figured he'd seen enough.

"Misaki...I don't think it cares," Saruhiko mumbled, stepping a bit closer to the animal once he saw it wasn't lashing out at the redhead.

"Well it should! Stupid parrot! I swear it's laughing at us, you can tell!"

Saruhiko bit his lip.  _Ah, so you noticed too._

Or it could just be Misaki being too imaginative, which wasn't unlikely, but...

The parrot's head tilted to the side at the words, making it look as if it was genuinely smiling, like it knew something they didn't. It pissed Saruhiko right off.

He raised his knife again, prepared to tap the bird a bit. Maybe touching it would get a reaction, besides...

"It's standing at the end," Saruhiko said with irritation, and Misaki grunted, realizing the meaning behind the bird's perch. It was where the continuation of the path should've been, where the cobble stone ended, right on top of the stupid rock.

The path stopped at the damn bird, and he'd only just noticed.

"What...why?"

"Don't know, but it must mean something." Saruhiko moved forward, knife coming inches away from the bird's beak.  _Nothing ever happens by coincidence here._

_Just a bit closer..._

"How perceptive."

Saruhiko lurched back when the bird spoke, colliding lightly into Misaki's chest as the other began to stutter profusely, all the while the taller refused to take his wide eyes off the animal. The bird sat calmly as ever, the ruckus it had caused not bothering its perch in the slightest. In fact, the green feathers ruffled lightly, and Saruhiko could swear it was laughing.

Saruhiko almost growled, but didn't dare approach. Right, nothing in this place could be normal could it?

"D-demon parrot!" Misaki's words hardly phased the bird, and it continued on in the same, calm tone, neck twisting every which way with its words.

"The both of you have done very well up until this point. I am quite impressed. It's not often that I get to greet Returners."

_This point?_

They stood at a standstill for several moments, and Saruhiko was at least thankful things weren't as eerily quiet as before, what with Misaki screaming about 'demons.' But Saruhiko supposed that wouldn't be far from the truth, given where they were.

The parrot waited as Misaki fumed, making no menacing or even slight motions. Calm, calculating. Saruhiko felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, calling this thing a bird was probably inaccurate.

When it appeared that no danger would come from the parrot or anything around them, Saruhiko slowly slid the knife back into his sleeve, remaining rigid with Misaki's grip on his shoulders.

The words echoed in his head, both Douhan's and the bird's.

_Making it this far..._

Saruhiko dared not get his hopes up, however...

"Hey," Misaki said with a glare, the annoyance thick in his tone, like he couldn't quite fathom yet that he was talking to a  _bird_ , even after everything they'd seen. "You said this point? You make it sound like we're close or some shit. So did the scary lady!"

Right. Close to the end, close to hell. Saruhiko shuddered, and he felt Misaki's fingertips press more firmly onto the lines of tension which were now prominent. It was comforting, but it didn't take away from the fear completely.

"That was my intention. However, you face one last...evaluation." The parrot's feathers ruffled again, causing a few to fall to the cave floor, and Saruhiko squinted. "We should be moving along, time doesn't like to be kept waiting."

_What the hell kind of expression is that?_

More importantly, the bird was offering a next step of sorts, whether or not it was trustworthy was a separate issue entirely. Another trial? It didn't surprise him, after all, that's what they'd been doing all along. So, what was with the bird? Why was it necessary for it to greet them? Why was it where the path should be?

He guessed it would be explained, after all, he hadn't known what Douhan's purpose was either, but everything seemed to be interlocked, and it pissed him right off.

Saruhiko could simply infer that the last trial was special in a way the others weren't, which also explained why Douhan's 'reminder' had been needed, but something still had him on edge. Not to mention, the entire time they'd been in the cave, they hadn't heard Munakata's voice even once. For a man who would rarely shut up, it was concerning. "Evaluation? Why not just let us walk into it ourselves, if it’s another trial?"

Suddenly, the bird's wings extended outward, in preparation for flight, and the gleam in its eye telling Saruhiko he had asked the right question. Whether or not he'd regret it, he didn't know. "This one is a bit different, conducted by me personally. You will need to follow."

"Um, I can't fly."

Ah yes, Misaki never failed to lighten any serious atmosphere. In the beginning, it had really annoyed Saruhiko, but now it was rather needed. Especially this close to the end. Saruhiko's fists clenched at the thought, one that had been gradually settling over him as they made progress. The end, the future... _life_. Would Misaki still be the same after all this, would Saruhiko? Would their lives go back to normal once they returned? The logical answer was probably not. Ghosts, regrets, insecurities, immeasurable burdens which they'd been forced to encounter and overcome. They'd seen things no one else could dream about, had run for their lives and contemplated death. No, lifting that weight was impossible. They'd both be stuck with these horrors, these memories forever. But even with that...some childish, unrealistic side of Saruhiko wanted Misaki to stay Misaki.

"I think it means we should walk below it," Saruhiko informed calmly, and Misaki nodded in understanding, a soft 'I knew that' escaping his lips.

Yes, Misaki should always be like this.

"Well then," the bird spoke, "shall we?"

\--

The walk through the cave was shockingly pleasant, the ground had flattened out, and other than hopping over the occasional crevice, it was without exertion. The bird had also ceased to speak, flying calmly above. When Saruhiko attempted to talk to it again, all he received was a unintelligible squawk, and some repeated words from his question, like the parrot was suddenly a normal creature.  _Huh_....

The mood had certainly changed, the layer of confusion which had settled over them was present, but the silence between he and Misaki was comfortable, both stewing in their own thoughts.

Saruhiko took the time to reflect, as he liked to do. They were walking to a trial, the last trial before...

Saruhiko didn't know how to feel. Afraid? Proud? It all seemed too one dimensional.

Being close to the end, it was something he wouldn't have considered possible when they'd first stepped on the black cobblestone path back in heaven, wouldn't have even entertained the idea. But now...

He felt a wide range, a mixture, an unidentifiable concoction of emotions, as if one couldn't be pinpointed without calling out another. He was fearful of stepping into hell, relieved he had made it there at all...happy...happy to be there with Misaki. It was all there, swirling inside him.

He looked down, watching as Misaki's fingers came to wrap around his own, a comfort by now, typical of the two of them. Misaki was weird. He made Saruhiko feel invincible, like they could do anything together.

Saruhiko honestly didn't know if he would have survived the first trial without the redhead, but he knew he'd helped Misaki quite a lot himself as well. There was an unmistakable balance there that he didn't understand, but he wouldn't give it up for anything. Clinging to things...it had never been something he afforded himself. It was a fool's decision, hanging onto things which could be taken from you, that's what he used to think.

Things had changed a lot since he'd grown up a little, even more since he'd met Misaki, and for whatever reason little things...certain emotions and gestures, weren't getting to him as much in a negative sense. He was getting worse at pushing them away, like he simply didn't have the motive for it any longer. The flush of his skin when Misaki looked at him, the encouraging grins and words, the undeniable twisting of his stomach which made his head spin in terribly cliche ways...he was rejecting those feelings less and less. He was like a damn love-struck idiot, and the fact he even so much as recognized  _that_ was telling. Maybe it wasn't only Misaki either, maybe it was also his stupid co-workers buying him those candles he hated the smell of when one burned out, or bringing him coffee when he'd overworked. Maybe it was Seri forcing him to go home and sleep, or him helping her plan the wedding though he always denied wanting to, but still showed up to every rehearsal and dinner. It could've been Enomoto's dumb inspirational post cards and unnecessary work parties.

It was probably all of it, and more. Details and moments he'd never cared to really remember or acknowledge before his death.

The anxiety would bubble up when he would think of the care and the concern the people around him gave, but it never stayed long, and he didn't know what to do about it. He found himself drowning in the pleasant waves of emotion more than he fought them. Any normal person would say it was a good thing, great even, becoming a better version of himself (if he could actually claim that), but as logical as it was, it was difficult to let all those years of neglect and solitude fade away, disintegrate before his eyes. In truth, he didn't know how to handle being happy.

_Happy_.

He clicked his tongue, and Misaki finally glanced at him, puzzled. "Saruhiko, what is it?"

_Nothing. Everything._

"Honestly, in the middle of a journey to hell..." Saruhiko grimaced, if more for the circumstances than the realization itself.

"Huh?"

Death, awful trials, a grueling journey, the potential promise of eternal hell...he'd gone through all that, was  _still_ going through all that, only to realize he was...

"...happy," Misaki's voice cut through Saruhiko's thoughts, and the taller was almost afraid he'd spoken aloud.

"What?"

It wasn't the case however, since Misaki began to sputter at the question, breaking their hold as he tried to formulate an explanation. “I-I mean...mm...I'm happy! Not happy like...man this has been a great time because it like...sucked. This whole journey was awful! But, not the being with you part! Just--"

Saruhiko's eyes widened as if his mind had already grasped Misaki's words without knowing what they'd be for sure.

"Doing all these awful things, being so scared, made me realize I...I love my friends and family, I love taking risks and creating things! It made me think that...I don't want to be scared anymore, or hold back once I am back to living. I dunno, I think I took a lot of shit for granted before is all..."

Misaki's face scrunched up, typical of when he was trying to piece his words together carefully, because delivery was everything. Saruhiko nearly laughed, because he knew the redhead would still end up sputtering or reiterating his meaning dozens of times, and the taller didn't even care.  _Misaki should stay Misaki._

"I mean it's fucking hard, to let everything you've always been...weird about? Or! Scared about I mean, it feels wrong to let it all go but, I can't help it? Yeah. I can't help it, and it's awesome!"

To think, someone who wasn't particularly gifted or fancy with words, could captivate Saruhiko completely with them. Saruhiko couldn't respond properly, his only thoughts being repetitive and simple.  _Me too. Exactly._

"So I'm happy you know? That even with all the fucked up shit we went through, all the stuff I won't forget...I'm at least happy it made me realize how much I value even the dumbest stuff about my life."

Right. Even the dumbest stuff.

Saruhiko glared from his own understanding, and again, he didn't know how to handle this at all. It wasn't as if he had a choice anymore though, it wasn't like before, where he could shut things down, expel them or seal them off somewhere in the deepest reaches of his mind. He had no control, he couldn't fight it, and he guessed...who would?

"Saruhiko, um, before this happens, I have to t-tell you something." For whatever reason, Saruhiko's stomach twisted again, and while he knew what it meant  _now_ , it didn't make things any more pleasant. His usual instinct to avoid the conversation or simply shut down was no longer present however, and he'd have to get used to that too he supposed. Annoying.

Misaki's face only made his palms sweat more, though it was from anticipation more than anxiety. The redhead's face was more flushed than Saruhiko had ever seen it, and he had his face fixed on the parrot above them as it flew down and through a smaller section of the cavern, forcing the both of them to crouch down a bit as they walked. It was like a tunnel, only illuminated by some sort of green gems lining the surface. Gaudy. It looked artificial too, carved out, almost like a path. He could still hear the bird flying above them, and he had a feeling they were getting close.

It only made the anticipation worse. "What is it?" He cursed himself for how weak his voice sounded.

Even with the tinge of green light, Saruhiko could tell Misaki was blushing even more. "S-shut up! I'm trying to word it right!"

_Seriously_. "It can't be  _that_ bad..."

"It's not bad at all jerk! At least, I hope not."

Misaki was going to be the end of him, and problem was he didn't mind. God, being more open about shit was so stupid, why did people embrace this? Idiots.

_Maybe you should say something first._

Saruhiko silenced the voice in his head. Yeah, no. He wasn't quite at  _that_ level yet.

In fact, Saruhiko didn't know what Misaki was going to say, only had a faint idea, and he should've cursed himself for being so hopeful.

He'd only recently come to terms with how he felt about everything, about Misaki, and now he was expecting those feelings to be mirrored. Expectations were dangerous, that's what he'd normally remind himself. It simply wasn't working though, so he kept walking, staring at the tunnel walls like they were the very bane of his existence.

But...would it be so bad to speak up too? No. No, no. He wasn't doing--

"Ugh! It's just, how do I put it?!" Misaki finally yelled, his words way louder than necessary, the parrot above them actually stumbled a bit mid-flight from the echoing of the cave walls. "Your face!"

Saruhiko, had he been in any other normal circumstance, would've stopped in his tracks, thoroughly confused.

What.

He hadn't exactly expected eloquence, but what?

Misaki's eyes were ablaze though, frustrated but confident, like he'd  _totally_ made sense.

Saruhiko rarely found himself dumbfounded, or at a loss for at the very least, a half-assed response, but of course, Misaki made him experience all kinds of new things.

"...my face?"

"Yeah."

Saruhiko was going to hurt him, not too bad, but just enough. Saruhiko inhaled, a last ditch effort to calm himself down and try to work out whatever the hell kind of response was 'your face.' "And  _what_ about it?"

"Well! It's dumb! I can't stand it, b-because--"

" _You_ \--"

"Shut up a sec and listen!" Misaki's sputtering was laced with embarrassment and anxiety, not intimidating in the slightest, but Saruhiko shut up, actually listened to what the other had to say. Not like he had much choice, Misaki would just yell over him anyways.

Well, that's what he told himself. In truth, it was the spark in Misaki's eyes, the one which always followed some stupidly delivered line or confession which would become ingrained in Saruhiko's head forever. He felt his throat go dry.

"I-I hate your face because I don't hate it! It's stupid...and ever since I met you I can't stop looking at it and ugh--you! You don't deserve it because you're the worst! The absolute fucking worst because you can't just come into my life--death? Whatever, you can't just come in all of a sudden and be all cool and awesome and see me cry a-and go through all this with me. B-because..."

_Because_...

Saruhiko was going to die again, for some reason that's how he felt. It wasn't natural, for his pulse to be  _this_ fast, his skin this clammy. Something was wrong, something had to be wrong. Nothing felt wrong about anything though, and his only want in that moment was for Misaki to keep talking, no matter how much all Saruhiko's past instincts told him to run and not hear it.

"Because, now that you're here--fuck I dunno, I don't ever want you to  _not_ be."

There it was.

Did he even find it surprising, deep down? _Mirrored feelings._

No, he was surprised, not so much by the confession itself, not by the strange delivery either, but calmness, the warmth which swept over him as soon as Misaki had finished speaking.

Maybe more so than that too, was the need for Misaki's eyes on him, and Saruhiko's own struggle to formulate a response. It was a simple task, looking at it logically. There were a number of ways he could reply, some better than others.

_'I feel the same.'_

_'I want to stay.'_

_'You're everything.'_

The words all felt heavy on his tongue, and while a physical response wouldn't be out of the question either, he could hardly fathom how he was still  _walking_ at this point.

So stupid, so lame, and yet...

He spared a glance at Misaki, and he could already tell he was taking too long for the redhead's liking to reply. The shorter's eyes were glaring at his feet as they walked, fists clenching and then relaxing quickly, like he didn't know what to do with them anymore now that he wasn't holding Saruhiko's hand, and maybe that realization was the final straw which got him moving.

The taller grabbed the other's hand without thinking of it, and said what seemed appropriate at the time. "I hate your face too, stupid."

The way Misaki's breath catches, Saruhiko can't handle it, he looks away. "Your expressions...they're bright and annoying, they take up everything and I can't see anything else. Your personality too, bright, annoying..."

The hand around his is warm.

"Determined, strong..."

_Breathtaking_. He swallows, and as the last train of thought is blurted out, he drops his voice to nothing more than a mumble. "I refuse to be without any of that."

And he means it. He doesn't waver about the resolution he feels. Staying with Misaki...

Carefully, he drags his eyes to Misaki, unsure of what he'd see. But ah, at this point, was there any reason to be so cautious about these things?

Saruhiko's hand tightened around Misaki's when he sees the other's face, the redhead's  _eyes_ as they snapped to meet his own, and that was that.

Ah, the look in them now, fiery and passionate in a completely different way than during a trial or after they got past one. It was new, and Saruhiko was afraid to make assumptions. 

All he knew was some instinct of his, some concealed part of him, wanted to be on the receiving end of that look forever.

Grasping things tightly, wanting to keep something for himself...

If it was a fool's decision, then he supposed he'd choose to be a fool.

\--

When the bird stopped flying, there was a door. The Deja vu which set in was really too strong for Saruhiko's liking.

He let his hand drop Misaki's, glancing at the crappy looking thing which was barely hanging onto its hinges. He'd seen it before of course. It was not unlike the one back at the beginning of their journey, where the horrors had begun. It resonated that same, intimidating aura, like it was the only thing standing between them and peril. In fact, it was almost worse this time, a bit more ominous, yet there was a strange calm which enveloped them as they turned to the bird which had led them all this way.

The parrot sat perched on a rock, head tilted at them, angled towards the door.

_This is it. The last trial._

There was an odd sense of peace, of unexpected familiarity as Saruhiko looked up at the top of the door, where naturally, there was an inscription once again, the characters shifting until they were understandable to the both of them.

'To fate.'

Yes, it was almost exactly like the first door.

This time though, neither of them hesitated, neither of them looked frightened or regretful. The flight instinct Saruhiko had felt way back at the first door was gone, and when he looked to Misaki's face, only resolve was there.

_"We swear to attempt this journey together.”_

He couldn't exactly go back on those words now could he?

With one final exchange between them, Saruhiko opened the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope I can update this sooner this time lol ^^  
> Comments are always appreciated!  
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole  
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole


	7. Moments of Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sweats- I'm alive lmaooo sorry it took so long to update this, it was really tough getting the plot straight, but outlining and support from my friends rlly helped, so I hope this chapter is worth the wait! Big thanks to EmeraldWaves for being the best beta <3

_"What could you give up?"_

It was a simple question, one Saruhiko had never pondered before. Sure, there would be times on rainy days or nights when Domyoji or Hidaka would feel extra introspective, maybe after seeing a weird movie, and similar questions would fly around the office.

_What's worse, failing or never trying?_

_Is there something holding you back right now?_

_Are you happy?_

He'd always viewed them as somewhat pointless. Why dwell on the answer to a question if the situation never arose? Why worry about if you are happy, when you could just work on trying to be? That's what Seri had said, and it made sense. Saruhiko never indulged any of them with his own answers, simply nodded along to whatever she or Akiyama said.

It was better that way. Looking back, he couldn't say if he avoided the questions simply because he deemed them worthless, or because he didn't want to face the answers.

But now, he didn't have a choice. He was posed the question, and given the solution, like some backwards exam. Except it wasn't multiple choice, there weren't alternatives. Only one outcome, one way out, and he had to go with it.

He wanted to throw up, wanted to go back to the ghost of his father and bone graveyards, anywhere else but here.

When they'd first stepped through the door, he'd felt like something was off, could feel his mind being picked apart even within his own skull, like something was searching for the soft spots, and again there was that voice, those eyes, this place...

The door had disappeared behind them. Gone. No going back. As if he needed that reminder anymore. He scanned the room, tapping Misaki on the shoulder, so as to make sure he was still there.

It was strange how much the room resembled a shack of some sorts, comfortable, but oddly out of place. There was a torn up couch and a table in the middle, poorly masquerading as a humble living space, surrounded by darkness and the cold cave rock.

A shattered illusion, essentially. Nothing about the space felt easy, though it did give the impression of multiple...people...occupying it.

As Saruhiko's eyes grazed over the tattered blankets and documents with various signatures, he couldn't help but be surprised. He'd assumed Munakata and Mikoto were the only human-like figures down here, but that had been a mistake it seemed, confirmed upon meeting Douhan. He just didn't know how many he expected, how many other deities he'd be forced to meet.

And then, standing in front of them had been another, and those pale eyes were like spikes through his soul. Looking into them....that had been Saruhiko's first error.

The man was seated, strapped to a wheelchair of some sorts, confined but smiling regardless, his eyes searching in a way that was so different. Different from Munakata's calculating gaze, or Douhan's commanding one. It was if those eyes were trying to pull something out of them, and Saruhiko didn't like it at all. But a force of some kind kept him rooted to the spot, forced to let the exchange of information, or whatever it was, flow seamlessly between them until the moment was over. It was like a snap, like when a computer would overheat at work and click off. Instantaneous, leaving a slight hum in its wake.

The man let his shaggy hair fall in front of one eye as he finally blinked, and Saruhiko felt Misaki jolt at the same time he did, the spell ending for both of them as their muscles tensed.

They were waiting for...well he didn't know, did he? This was a trial, but the common format of the previous ones was apparently out the window. They had to wait for instructions, and the knowledge of that was making him more anxious than walking into immediate peril did.

Misaki inched closer to him out of discomfort, letting their shoulders brush, and Saruhiko exhaled from the slight solace he got from it.

_Misaki is here with me, and I'm with him. It's fine._

Except it hadn't been.

\--

"While wasting time isn't an issue for you, I think we should move this along, yes?" The man spoke, the words slow and smooth as he tilted his head forward. Yata wouldn't call his demeanor kind or inviting in any sense, but it was purposeful, respectful. Yata spared a glance at Saruhiko, whose face was set in an odd grimace, like he wasn't sure what to make of the man either. They stepped forward hesitantly, not really believing the simple room with its bound occupant and lack of danger.

_This was the last trial so...what the hell?_

"I'll congratulate you, but I'm sure you've been hearing that a lot. Still, it’s admirable you've made it this far, you two must be really special. Impressing Ambition herself is difficult," he continued, looking away fondly to a framed picture. Yata followed the gaze, noting Douhan sitting primly on the floor in front of the man, along with three others who smiled happily.

He wanted to ask, but decided it didn't matter. He could tell enough from the picture, styled very much like a typical family photo, and he decided the guy in front of them couldn't be too evil, if not seriously strange.

Everyone had the things they loved, and it made Yata feel weirdly jealous, that he wasn't with his own family, back to life with Saruhiko, hands dirtied with paint instead of blood.

Soon though. Soon he would be.

"Impressing me will be a challenge too," he said with a smile, wide eyes flashing in excitement when Saruhiko glared. “I am the deity of Change, but you may call me Hisui Nagare. That’s what I used to be called, but don’t worry, it’s not important for you to know.” His lips quirked a little more, barely noticeable. “It’s not a memory test you’ll be given after all.”

In the past, Yata might’ve jumped on the scraps of information offered, given into any spiel this magical being had, but Yata wasn't having it with the riddles or verbal games anymore. He was tired of waiting. He was curious sure, they could sit there for hours while Nagare told them who he was, what this place was, but what was the point? Yata only had one thing he wanted, and he wanted to be back home.

"We don't care what it is, we'll do it!" Yata didn't so much as flinch when Nagare's eyes snapped to his own. "Bring it on!"

For as much as Yata had been afraid throughout the journey, he was proud he'd never lost his determination, his pride in himself, no matter how many times it faltered. Now was no exception. He was damn exhausted and desperate, but he wouldn't kneel, he'd face whatever came at him head on until he couldn't stand anymore, and then he'd crawl.

He felt Saruhiko relax next to him a little at the words, and Yata took the opportunity to squeeze his hand, their interlocked fingers rough from effort.

He hoped Saruhiko hadn't lost anything either, in fact, Yata could only think he had gained. Saruhiko was still Saruhiko, and so much more.

 _Funny_ , Yata thought. He didn't know how time worked in the afterlife, but he had only known Saruhiko for the duration of their journey, and yet he felt like they had a bond that could never be severed.

Nagare sized them up for but a moment, his eyes focusing on their linked hands as his restraints tightened around him. Maybe one day, far in the future, Yata would remember to ask who he was, how he'd gotten there. But for now...

"You heard him, what's the trial?" Saruhiko's thumb rubbed the back of Yata's palm, silently searching for ground.

"Yes, very well. Let's proceed." Nagare nodded, stiff and quick, eyes closing as a serene smile bloomed on his face. "It won't take long, well, depending on you that is. It's not so much a trial as a question you see."

At that, Yata's brow furrowed in confusion.  _That was it?_

"And since you seem so eager," Nagare said, inclining his head towards Yata. "Why don't you start. Someone so passionate..."

It didn't sound like an insult, but Yata couldn't help but glare anyways. Nothing that came out of Nagare's mouth sounded good or bad either way, but it was laced with something he couldn't pinpoint. "A question? Whatever! No problem!"

Really, he should've known by now never to expect the best, but he had an image to uphold, even in death.

"Hm, so you say. It's more like a few questions, a survey if you will." Nagare moved his chair forward, closing the gap between them, and Yata took the chance to glance at Saruhiko, finding some small security in those blue eyes. The taller nodded, and it was all Yata needed to know he had the other's complete faith. He turned back to Nagare, and the seated man took it as his cue. "Alright. Yata Misaki, age twenty, born on July 20th, and died on the evening of August 14th on the Shizume bridge. Cause of death: drowning after being run off the road by a stray vehicle. Hobbies include skateboarding, video games, and painting. Then there is a list of relatives and friends who play important roles in your life, along with some trivial history. That is the basic summary of your life, found in your file."

Yata hardly registered the last part. He felt his body jolt, and he heard the sound of a car horn blare in his ears, the distinct screech of metal against metal ringing throughout his thoughts, a flash of red, the smell of burning rubber...

_He was late again, he had stayed too long at the bar with his friends, and now he was going to have to deal with the crowds around his apartment complex._

_"Ugh, maybe I should've let one of the guys come with me," Yata mumbled to himself as he made it to the halfway point on the bridge. If it got too dark, he'd surely get lost, he never did get used to this short cut. Traffic was already pretty heavy, the aggressive rush hour taking its toll on impatient cars as they cut each other off and honked loudly. Yata should've just stayed at the bar for the night. Kusanagi wouldn't have minded..._

_Yata hadn't wanted to impose though. He knew the bartender was stressed about his wedding, and probably wanted to go home to his fiance, not stay worrying over Yata locking up the bar. Fuck, they had the rehearsal dinner tomorrow too...Yata hated wearing suits, and Kusanagi's wife was way too pretty for him to not make an idiot of himself around. On top of it, she was bringing her friends and family too, even more reason for Yata to feel awkward._

_"Ughhh," he groaned again, really wishing he hadn't stayed out as late as he had. Now he wouldn't get to bed until late, and tomorrow was sure to be hectic and filled with planning..._

_Maybe--_

_A loud horn broke his thoughts, and Yata glanced over to the traffic at his side, barely having time to gasp as a car stupidly switched lanes at the wrong time and at a way too aggressive speed for the current congestion, colliding with the red convertible next to it and sending it careening to the side of the bridge._

_Right towards him. Yata jumped, landing on the car’s hood and roughly sliding into the windshield, knocking the air right out of him. His vision blanked, and the last thing he was able to comprehend was the car lurching forward, and the feeling of falling._

Yata tensed, and suddenly it was like he couldn't breathe. It was like he wanted to cough, heave maybe, and it was only Saruhiko's hand on his that kept him in reality.

White. That was what had happened next. He saw white, and the blue of Saruhiko's eyes.

_Fuck..._

He remembered. Not in its entirety, but he knew it was the truth.

_I drowned. I was walking home, there was an accident. I fell..._

"Holy shit..."

"I know it might be a shock," Nagare stated, sensing the distress Yata was no doubt emanating.

_I'm so stupid. I knew I shouldn't have gone that way so late. I could've avoided everything. All of this..._

"I figured it was something like that," Saruhiko voiced, expression softening when he caught Yata's watery eyes.

"H-huh?"

Saruhiko looked about as pathetic as Yata felt, and for whatever reason, the urge to quell his worries seemed to relieve Yata of some of his own anguish. Saruhiko reached out, grabbing Yata's other hand and facing him completely. "Before you woke up...you were coughing really bad, gasping for air...I'm...sorry."

The apology sounded awkward, but Yata knew it was genuine, and it was that alone that already had his mind wafting through the cloud of disappointment in his mind.

It didn't matter that he’d died, if he hadn't, if he had somehow avoided it, he wouldn't have been able to help Saruhiko make it back. He wouldn't have met Saruhiko at all, the taller had died before him, a complete stranger. Somehow the thought was worse than the idea of facing Saruhiko's grieving friends by himself the next day due to the cancelled dinner, so in a strange way, he was grateful. The journey was awful, but they'd made it, and now Yata knew Saruhiko better than he could've hoped, and never wanted to be without him.

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault anyways..." Yata mumbled, pushing down his urge to wrap Saruhiko up in a hug. "I'm here now, with you, and we'll be back soon, together." Yata turned back to Nagare, shaking off the last of his shock. He could worry about it later,  _much_ later. "Right after these questions yeah? So let's have it!"

"Well put," Nagare said with a nod. "As I said, that was a summary of your life, but you and I both know humans are much more complex than that. Your thoughts and desires are powerful, and your resolve has proved powerful throughout this whole journey. You've grown and changed, and if you are granted life again, you will change even more." Nagare back up a bit, eyeing the photo on the mantle once more before turning back to Yata. "But, what I'm interested in is the now. I want to know what has to change."

_What?_

"That being said, Yata Misaki, what are you looking forward to when you get your life back?"

Yata stuttered, and well, he couldn't help it. What kind of stupid question was that? "U-uh..."

"When you started this journey, what was driving you?"

"W-well...my friends and family obviously, I want to get back and see them an--"

"Was that really the most important thing at the start? When you thought of what you'd left behind, you were angry, or so I was told. Why?"

Yata all but growled. Who was this guy to tell him what he valued? Of course his friends were important to him, not to mention his family, and there was...

_“I was going to be a great artist you know…was gonna give all the other snobs a run for their money…”_

"Oh." Yata froze, not really meaning to voice the realization aloud, if it could even be called that. He swallowed, trying to shrug it off, but something in his stomach told him he'd found the right answer.

But so what? Yeah he loved his art, he wanted to share it and make it into a career, it wasn't abnormal. Lots of people cared about their job...

_Yeah, but it was all you cared about, it was the first thing on your mind._

His stomach twisted, and he shook his head despite himself. He knew Saruhiko was looking at him in concern, but he didn't have the heart to look back. All these fears, repressed or new, he didn't know, came rushing up. He was selfish, simple minded....

_“I had my first gallery showing next week..."_

_Right. What a joke._

The worst part was, he couldn't find himself regretting those words from before. It mattered to him, it would always matter to him.

"My art," he whispered feebly. Yeah, his art was a big part of him, it was supposed to change his life, secure his future no matter how hard he had to struggle for it. Now he just felt like he was kidding himself, putting his skills up on a pedestal in his heart when most people would consider it trivial. Yata frowned at the floor, mouth softly opening, unable to find words. Nagare didn't see any issue with continuing regardless.

"Yes, you care very much about it right? There were quite a few pieces of your work in your file, one of my companions actually complimented you. Youth isn't...the easiest to please either." Nagare let his neutral expression fall for but a moment before it was back again, but Yata didn't dwell on it. He was still a little too overcome with everything, he couldn't shake the guilt, didn't even feel proud of the compliment like usual. "It's a form of self-expression, art, and it obviously was a very integral part of your daily life."

"Um...not really, well..."  _Yeah it was. "_ I guess it doesn't sound like much to most people..."

_Certainly not enough to be someone's first concern upon fucking dying._

But it had been his everything, his drive and passion, he was never happier than when he was sketching or painting, and the facts remained true. So why...

"There's no reason to feel guilty," Nagare supplied in his same, steady tone. It wasn't meant as a comfort, more like he was stating a fact. "It's human nature to indulge in things you value, if you didn't have any passions or interests, it would be more troublesome for me to ask my questions. It's normal. Now..."

_Normal._

He knew he wasn't a failure, at least he tried to believe it most of the time. He was good at what he did, he wanted to be even better, how was that different from any other job? Of course it had been on his mind, it was part of his life and future.

Maybe he wasn't as selfish as he thought. And as for the people in his life...

"Tell me, what is it about art that you love?" Nagare, whether he meant to or not, seemed to spark Yata's findings.

"It's a challenge." His voice was still shaky, but as the words flowed, he felt the guilt dissolving, his insecurities leaving him as a grin formed. "It takes effort and time, and sometimes you fail, but when you succeed and finish a piece of work it's the fucking best feeling in the world. It makes me feel proud of myself, but mostly..."

He remembered the late nights where he stayed up, the truthful and encouraging critiques of his friends, the first sketchbook his mom bought him when he was little, and a plethora of good memories where his sketched lines and mixed paints intertwined with his life and the people in it.

"It's an extension of me, and what I'm feeling, and when I'm having fun with my friends or thinking about my mom, it comes out in my work! It's all important to me, and art lets me share that, and when I can, I know all the people who support me are happy too."  _And that's more than enough._

_It's all important, it'll always be important._

"Good.” Nagare’s voice was small then, but something about it made Yata tense. “Now, could you give it up?"

Yata felt as if his words were completely disregarded with the singular statement, and he choked on his reply, because surely there had to be something more. "W-what?"

Nagare blinked, eyes lowering slightly from their usually wide appearance, patient if nothing else. "That is your question, that is your test. Will you give it up? Upon leaving the afterlife, your knowledge of art, the skills learned and acquired, gone. If you desire to return more than anything else, you will be able to let it go."

Give it up.

Hours of sketching, of shitty part time hours working for supplies, pictures and portraits of his life. Gone. Given up.

As if it was so easy to strip away what made Yata whole.

He didn't know if he moved or not, his brain stalling at the words, but he felt Saruhiko jolt next to him, equally stunned, but still being able to comprehend it. Yata couldn't blame him, it wasn't as if he'd just been asked to throw away a big part of himself, but Yata couldn't help but be slightly envious of the clarity.

Was this some kind of joke? All that...for what? Give it up? How could he? What was even the point of having him remember all the great things about his work, about how it influenced him?

_Because it's fucked up that's why, this whole place._

Yata wanted to be as angry as he should be, but his face muscles trembled, and he bit his lip hard to block the show of hurt. Nagare stood there all the while as he processed, not cruel or conniving, just...like he was going through the motions. Maybe that made it even worse, because Nagare wasn't giving him anything to yell at, no 'you're pathetic' or 'bet you thought this was easy.' So, it came naturally to him, his next words, as small and helpless as they sounded. "Why?"

Nagare tilted his head, much like the parrot from before. "It's simple really. Not only is it endurance, because after all, it shows how willing you are to complete the journey. However, for me it's telling in other ways." His greyish eyes moved towards the wall, where the portrait sat along with other old, unidentifiable artifacts, much like those in Douhan's area. "Life tends to not go as planned, it's why you're here in the first place. Dreams have to be abandoned at times, connections severed, relationships lost."

Yata's first instinct was to snap back about not fighting hard enough for things, that giving up was a choice people made without trying, but he knew better now. It wasn't always the case, it couldn't be helped at times, and he had no right to judge.

But this wasn't like that. He had a choice, he had made it. He'd sacrificed everything to make it back to his life so he could pursue his passion, not have it taken away.

The response was there, burning on his tongue, but he held it.

"I know it must appear useless and unfair, but you must understand, I believe the sign of someone truly worthy of making it past this point of the journey is someone who is able to leave things behind no matter how painful. They are the ones who are not afraid to move forward and find new ways to enjoy their life, and search for the fulfillment they lost. They embrace change. That's what makes you worthy, if you can give me a yes to that one question."

The tears spilled somewhere in the middle of that, he stopped caring, stopped functioning really.

Saruhiko growled next to him. "What's the use in that? You'll just take it away anyways!" His grip was a vice on Yata's hand, but it trembled from fear, Yata could hear it lacing his voice.

Right, Saruhiko would lose something too. It made him cry harder.

"No, I wouldn't allow it. Your response has to be truly honest, you have to mean it. And believe me, I will know if you don't." Nagare bowed his head. "When you reach hell, you will find out whether or not your response was enough."

Saruhiko snapped again. "What the--"

"Saru..." Yata tried, but his voice was scratchy. He had to do this himself, it was his question. His gut twisted at the reminder. "Let me, p-please."

It made Saruhiko back off, but he stayed rooted to his side, and Yata couldn't be more grateful. _We'll get through anything together._  Isn't that what he'd always said? If he returned to life after hitting the reset button on his art, well, he'd have Saruhiko, he'd have his family and friends.

His inspiration.

"H-hey," Yata began, clearing his throat and wincing at the noise. "If I say yes, can I never make art again?"

"No, as I said, the skills and effort you've put into it will be cleared, but if you so choose, you are free to take up the challenge of learning again and restore it," Nagare answered immediately, a barely there smile joining the words. It must've been the response he was looking for. "After all, such traits are valued."

Yata would have all he needed, the drive, and the things he loved to influence his creativity. It would be hard, but he wouldn't lose anything if wanted it.

And he really wanted it.

"Do you think you're capable of it? Remember, you have to mean it."

_I always say what I mean._

"Yes," Yata answered without hesitation, because that part of himself he knew all too well. If he put his mind to it, no matter how long it took, he would be an artist again. If it was meant to be, he could do it. There would be no point in doubting himself anymore, not after this.

Nagare's smile stretched a bit farther, and Yata's nerves tingled as he made the final decision.

"So then, will you give it up?"  _Do you want your life back?_

Saruhiko's breathing faltered beside him, and Yata fixed the taller with a stern gaze, because yes, he was sure about this, before tilting his chin up at Nagare.

_I can embrace change too._

"Yes."

\--

It wasn't like Saruhiko didn't know Misaki was amazing, in fact, he'd come to the logical realization long ago, perhaps before he decided to actually admit it to himself. Back when Misaki was simply an overly determined stranger with too bright eyes and a voice begging Saruhiko to help him, to get their lives back.

_“We could get our lives back!”_

_“What’s scarier than death?”_

_“C’mon! Don’t you have anyone you miss? Or that misses you?”_

Saruhiko had picked apart the genuine words, but he'd caved in the end hadn't he? Did he regret it? He couldn't find it in himself to, and it was such a stark contrast to what he would expect from himself. It wasn't cowardly or negative, and he was as shocked as he was terrified at the admission. How easy it had been, falling into the redhead's pace, adopting his goals. Now Saruhiko knew how powerful the other truly was, how convincing and passionate. It was obvious from the beginning, how Saruhiko really never stood a chance. He thought that maybe, just maybe, his old self would've been angry about that. Would've been repulsed, pushed the other away because truthfully, he didn't understand people like Misaki. He'd never be someone like Misaki. Not fully.

But he had changed a lot, not only from the journey, but before as well. His younger self and the adult Saruhiko, were very different, only connected by the threads of trauma permanently woven into him.

And now...

He may not have gained the unbridled enthusiasm and spirit Misaki had, he never would, those parts of him had long been cut off, stomped into the ground along with his childhood. But he had his resolve, he had his desires, his skills, and the goals which had spawned from Misaki were now purely his.

But in this case...

_What could you give up?_

The doubt was still there. Yes Misaki was amazing, and he showed it even more so now, being able to give up something which Saruhiko meant the world to him. Difficulty aside, he'd done it.

Dread pooled in Saruhiko's stomach, and he didn't know why. Part of him figured it was the unknown variable. He always hated those. Nagare would pick out something from his life he deemed important to Saruhiko, but the taller really didn't know what.

But no, he knew that wasn't all of it. It wasn't so much that Misaki's bravery made Saruhiko feel like a coward, though it definitely did that too...he wasn't sure if when in Misaki's place, he'd be able to do the same. But it was more because he couldn't distinguish what he coveted so dearly. Could he really say he was super passionate about anything? Saruhiko had been so indifferent all his life, and it wasn't until he'd found a purposeful job and slowly let his friends into his life that things changed. He liked his job, he was good at it, but he wouldn't call it a passion. He didn't  _love_ it.

His life was relatively simple and boring. Peaceful, but by no means special, and he liked it that way. He didn't need much, he'd been through enough when he was younger. Having a routine, a place to keep him warm, and a close knit group of people who he trusted, it was all he felt the need for.

Saruhiko watched as Misaki dried his tears clumsily with his free hand, refusing to break the connection between them with his other, and the dread was intensified.

What if this wouldn't work on him? What if he held them back, because there was nothing special about him to lose?

"You're incorrect Fushimi-san." Nagare's voice sliced through his thoughts, calm as ever, and Misaki's amber eyes flashed up to meet Saruhiko's own in confusion. It weirdly stung, which wasn't common with Misaki. Looking at Misaki always calmed him considerably, but now it made the dread pool tenfold and Saruhiko turned away like he'd been slapped.

He snarled at Nagare, _damn him_. Of course he was aware of the telepathic abilities of these deities, but he didn't get their scope and he certainly couldn't detect them in his head, and it made him feel overly exposed in the worst way. More than that, having Misaki aware of his inner turmoil was the last thing he wanted. So, he'd do what came naturally. He'd deny.

He never got the chance.

"Shut--"

"You're wrong Fushimi-san," Nagare pressed on, holding his head high in observation. Saruhiko tried to loosen his grip on Misaki's hand, but the redhead wasn't allowing it.

"Saru...what is he--"

"I don't need your all knowing wisdom," Saruhiko growled. "Stay out of my--"

"You care about many things, just more subtle. You're standing next to one, for example," Nagare said, gesturing to their joined hands, and Saruhiko instinctively stepped closer to Misaki, bumping into him unexpectedly when the redhead did the same. The dread was surged with fear, because as unbelievable as it was, part of his resolve was getting Misaki out of there, getting them back home and being alive and  _together_. No, he wouldn't give that up.

Nagare nodded in placation. "But that's not what I'm after. I seek something from your life, remember? What you valued most, at the start of it all, and what has endured."

Saruhiko's eyes narrowed. "Enlighten me."

A nod, that's all that prepared him. "As I said, you care about many things, and it all makes up large parts of you. You care about your work in the sense that any work you do is done impressively well and to the best of your ability--"

Hours of sitting at his desk, sifting through files and code flashed through his mind, as do memories of him as a child, researching and researching about whatever piqued his interest at the time. From the science in textbooks or a rubik’s cube, from staying up to make seating charts for Seri's wedding to finishing work reports and video game quests, he worked through everything, drowsiness a secondary concern.

"Mediocre is hardly in your vocabulary, and when it is, you do what it takes to white it out. You care about being better than those that wronged and betrayed you, right down to physical appearance."

He saw years of self-destruction and doubt, of molding himself into an image he could hate, so he wouldn't ever make the mistake of believing he could be something more. He remembered when he stopped, when his reflection started being  _him_ , and only him.

"Don't think your glasses request did not go unnoticed. But above all, and regardless of whether you know it yourself, you have immense adoration for those you've allowed into your life."

Saruhiko stops his own mind there, because going further was far too dangerous. It doesn't take a genius to know what Nagare was implying, and he's no idiot, but exposing the truth is more than he's willing to do. As if he could keep it hidden, unharmed, from someone who no doubt knew everything there was to know.

Even still, he pushed down memories of bickering and laughter, of heels clicking and the smell of stuffy offices, because part of him  _knew_ what Nagare meant.

He remained quiet for far too long, and he could tell Misaki was fighting with himself to not intervene like he so obviously wanted to. Ask Saruhiko what was wrong and pull the answers out himself with fierce purpose. But he didn't, because he had done this on his own hadn't he? So Saruhiko should too.

How he loathed it now, facing things alone.

"Would all that be correct to assume?" Nagare's question was hardly one at all, said with a slight lilt that hinted he already knew the answer, the greenish-gray of his eyes glistening in a way that did nothing to quell Saruhiko's anger. He wasn't a fan of people assuming things about him, much less when they were completely correct.

He directed what he thought was a scathing glare, and he guessed he succeeded, from how Misaki jumped back next to him, hand stuttering in its grip. Nagare was unfazed as ever, form relaxing oddly in his chair. Patient, waiting.

Expectant.

The worst part was, Saruhiko couldn't give himself the satisfaction of shattering those expectations. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, dry like sandpaper as he hissed the words out, or he tried at least. It sounded more akin to the voice of a scared child. "Yes."

"What are you willing to give up then? Or, more specifically..."

The feeling bubbled up, dread, knowing. It twisted his gut. It was as he thought. He couldn't push down the memories, Nagare knew they were there.

Saruhiko's breathing stumbled regardless; a memory slipped through.

_"Fushimi-san, I have to say, you're being difficult." Fuse's irritable voice cut through the silence of the office. They were working overtime, because the rest of the group had caught some sort of stomach bug after going out the previous night. They could've simply left the work for them for later, but..._

_Saruhiko almost blanched at the blunt admission, but caught himself. Ah, so it was going to be like this. It wasn't uncommon for Fuse to be annoyingly honest about sensitive issues, but well, Saruhiko had been more than okay with the quiet. "Oh, how so?" He resisted the urge to glare. It wasn't like he much cared about the answer. In fact, he was impressed he'd actually replied. "You can leave if you want, I told you I had work to finish. I don't need your help."_

_"Right," Fuse mumbled, loudly throwing a stack of finished reports into a sorting bin. "We both know neither you nor I were behind on work. You stayed to help everyone else, so they didn't have things to do when they--"_

_"Any work that gets done helps overall efficiency, which makes my life less of a headache." Saruhiko cut in, not bothering to hide a scowl this time. There was something he hated about the conversation, regardless of if he chose to pinpoint it, and he'd rather sweep it away and into the silent void as soon as possible. Sure, he could say he and Fuse got along better now than in his first days at the company, but at the moment, he was managing to get on Saruhiko's tired and coffee deprived nerves._

_He ignored any of the actual reasoning for Fuse's statement. It wasn't important, shouldn't be. The usual pattern between them told Saruhiko that there was nothing more to say. Saruhiko would make a final remark that left no desire for retort, and Fuse would sigh or grumble, and then...nothing._

_So he wasn't exactly expecting it when the other went on._

_"You know, you don't have to try so hard to act like you don't care, or that you don't need help. We'd all...we'd help you, if you asked. Probably even if you didn't, which isn't fair, so get rid of the habit already." Another pile, tossed violently in the bin, a stark contrast to the other's level tone._

_There they were again, baseless assumptions. He wished he could shut them all down in one go. He was never certain about the assumptions he made about **himself** , so how dare anyone else have the audacity to make them with no hesitation._

_Saruhiko snapped at him, that cruel smile threatening to curl up. He guessed it hadn't gone away yet, wondered if it ever would. "Right, I'm sure."_

_There was hardly a pause there, like he **expected** , because a pause would follow the  **pattern**. He would push away, people would back off._

_Lately, the pattern was becoming less and less dependable, based on the people who surrounded him. Fuse straightened to his full height, that same annoyed glint in his eyes as he grabbed another stack of paperwork defiantly, because he obviously refused to leave._

_"Why do you think I'm here with you?"_

The memory wasn't fresh. It was from years back, when Saruhiko had barely been adjusting to his new life, new opportunities and outlooks. He still held parts and tendencies of his old self, still isolated himself and refused to accept words of comfort and weakness.

It wasn't a special moment on its face, he'd been exhausted, irritable. Yet he'd subjected himself to working, and Fuse hadn't hesitated to tag along. Saruhiko knew now it was a gesture of care, and maybe that was the point. Maybe the moment wasn't pivotal, but he obviously cherished it, clung to it deep in his mind because it was essential to...

To what? His growth? The bonds he'd formed?

God there it was again. Admitting it always made his palms sweat.

Bonds, such unstable, fleeting things. In most cases. And yes, maybe his case wasn't normal, when it came to his inner circle, but it wasn't just that and he  _knew_ it. The memory reminded him...

_"We'd help you, if you asked."_

Ah, it was that. The reminder that he had support, whether he deserved it at the time or otherwise. He'd cultivated that, in some unknown way, his loud, overly nosy support system, and as a result, he could hardly think of a memory in the past few years where they weren't involved in some shape or form.

It settled something comfortable inside him, or maybe just reinforced the fact that it was there, the warmth, one which didn't burn or make his skin prickle anxiously.

Saruhiko looked back at Nagare, the strange coolness of the cave seeping in his bones, and he finally considered how this might be the hardest trial yet. His question wasn't something he'd be able to answer correctly, for once in his life. Nagare seemed to realize them too, Saruhiko's own internal realizations, his head bowing before his last effort.

"If you had to return to your life, only to find the people in it no longer remembered you, could you?" A question, that was the trial, but Saruhiko knew his would have many hidden questions, things laced underneath way more complex than a simple rewriting of time, of his bonds. He couldn't answer any of them the right way, like Misaki had. Determined, and sure, confident of his survival. "Can you make the effort to cultivate those relationships from scratch?"

No. A resounding no. Was it not fucking obvious? Saruhiko wanted to snap at him, but his strength drained instantly, the surging of self doubt and loss was too much, he couldn't do  _anything_.

Did these people not know who he was? How much of a distant reality it would be, for him to do any of that? They seemed to know everything else. It had taken Saruhiko his entire life to accept those bonds and connections he'd made, he'd tried to destroy and crack them more times than he could count. He was distant and reserved, any effort made on his companions' part to get closer to him had completely depended on their own kindness and resolve, none of his. It was purely selfish really, how he'd taken his spot among them all, only giving in and seeing their value when all the hard work had been done, his walls chipped away slowly by each interaction and tender moment. He didn't deserve it, not the first time, so why would he be able to earn it a second? He wasn't so naive as to believe it was possible.

On top of it all, he was bad at connecting, he'd been told several times how unpleasant he was. And though he'd surely return to life a changed person, with new insights and more control, there was no guarantee he could erase what had been ingrained in him completely. Certainly not enough to reach out and put the things he cared about back together. He would have Misaki...and yeah, that in itself was more than he could ask for, and he wanted it so bad, but...

He couldn't leave those fragments of himself behind with people, with Seri and the guys, knowing they had no idea what they'd been to him. It was worse than if they simply passed away; nothing about this grieving process would be natural.

 _How hilarious_ , he thought with a rueful smile.  _All this to get back to them, and I lose them no matter what._

No.

No.

That was the answer.

But what was he supposed to say? Certainly not what he knew deep down. Because if he didn't try to deny his feelings, he wouldn't even get the chance to try to overcome them. The journey would end for him, right then and there, after everything he'd gone through.

Misaki would leave without him. All his connections, truly gone.

Misaki's hand touched his neck, like he was trying to ground Saruhiko as best he could, in support of an answer Saruhiko could not bring himself to utter. He met the touch anyways, though he felt sick, and curled his long fingers around the warm palm, never wanting to let it go.

"Saru..." Misaki's voice was the most patient he'd ever heard it, to disappoint the person behind such an understanding tone...he probably couldn't do that either, not after finding out what they meant to each other.

He wanted to be with Misaki, he wouldn't lose that. Saruhiko looked down at the redhead, eyes undoubtedly clouded with fear he had no desire to acknowledge further. Misaki held it, didn't comment on it other than another gentle squeeze to Saruhiko's hand and neck, and Saruhiko could've buried himself in his arms for eternity, away from all this.

But it wasn't an option.

Saruhiko wouldn't break his gaze on the shorter's face, even as Nagare asked again.

"Fushimi-san, could you give those connections up?"

A spark of sadness flashed in Misaki's eyes, but it was much too late for that.

"Yes."

Misaki smiled at him, encouraging, a silent 'you can do this, it won't be so bad.' Saruhiko couldn't mirror it.

"A good choice, Fushimi-san."

"Right."

And all the while, the voice in his head continued. _No, no, no._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Tbh there's probably one more huge chapter left, maybe split into two (I'm not quite sure) before the fic is over, I know it's going to be so weird being done, but I'm really excited for what happens next, so stay tuned!  
> Also I made an 8tracks for this fic if anyone is interested lol most deal with overall themes but its obvious some chapters were inspired heavily by songs ^^ [ Playlist ](https://8tracks.com/xladysaya/shaking-in-my-skull)  
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole  
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole


	8. Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sighs- I'm so happy to be posting this finally lol. First, thanks to everyone who is still reading, I know it's been a ride and its not over lmaoo. That being said, I have finished writing this fic, and have 2 more chapters after this planned. I know I said it would only be 1 or 2 more, but I ended up writing 30k of ending so .....LOL 
> 
> I'm going to be posting the other two parts this week, so stay tuned for quick updates. Enjoy reading! Big thanks to EmeraldWaves for reading this over and dealing with my long af chapters lol.

********

_"Remember, all you must do is touch the gate, and you will be evaluated."_

Nagare's last words were clear, the task being shockingly easy despite the overall complexity of the journey.

Saruhiko had quirked his eyebrow in confusion, turning the words over along with Munakata's past ones.

_“The closest someone ever got, was the entrance of hell’s gates.”_

"But then," he began, voice weak in the empty cave, "why did Munakata say no one has ever gotten past the gates?"

_If the gate is truly the finish line..._

Saruhiko wanted to rescind his inquiry before Nagare had the nerve to throw him a solemn look.

The seated man shook his head, moving to the side in order for another door, the exit, to reveal itself. "Lesser humans have collapsed upon reaching the threshold. Not by plain exertion, but that coupled with the pure weight and burden of the journey itself. It is perhaps why the higher ups chose to lie to you, maybe they thought having a farther goal would keep you going longer. Sadly, I don't know how much good the kindness will do you. But..."

The door opened, giving way to a familiar, grey landscape. The one from just after they'd descended from heaven. To think he'd feel such a strong rush of nostalgia when it was so close to ending.

They moved forward, unspeaking, until they were on the other side, and Nagare's cryptic smile began to disappear behind cave rock.

"All I can say is, when it comes to lesser humans, don't be one of them."

\--

It was less a gate, and more of a wall, the barrier keeping them from Hell. The wind around them swirled, the grey dust kicking up and brushing against the sleek material. It was a lot cleaner than Saruhiko would have imagined, shining marble, marred with a few scuffs here and there. After all, no one was going to be fighting to get in.

Except them of course, this was their goal. All along, they'd endured so much to get to this one place, as cursed as it was, and now...

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm scared," Misaki whispered, hand twitching at his side. "This is it...after this...we'll be..."

_Alive_. That was the unspoken truth of it, but it didn't seem real. Not for him at least. Saruhiko watched as Misaki's face settled into one of serenity, no doubt remembering the challenges that had brought them here. After Nagare's parting congratulations, they'd set down a path much similar to the first, dark and made of cobblestone, with no trip ups or obstacles. Eerily silent, they'd walked, on edge and waiting for malicious whispers or growls of monsters. But there had been none of it. Only sand and rock, just like before, Nagare's cave dissolving behind them beneath layers of dirt. It was almost like a victory lap, but neither of them had been smiling. It was hard to feel anything but disbelief, after all that had transpired.

It was nearly overwhelming, the image of something towering in the distance, the gates which would lead them to their end, whatever it may be. They'd been unnerved, and Saruhiko thought maybe he understood why no one had yet to make it past those gates. It would have been easy, to lose his mind and drive right then and there, beaten and hopeless. He thought about his father, about Misaki's fierce encouragement, of his friends and their grief, and the inklings of hope he'd allow to grow inside of himself.

He wouldn't be one of those others though, he'd see it through, whether he failed or not. His reflection only fed that.

Had he changed? Yes, there was no use denying it now, staring up at the finish line. He'd changed in many ways, he'd carry that change with him forever no doubt. Misaki would too, the good and the bad. They’d never be the same, it wasn't possible, to not remember the terror and trauma, the things they'd seen. What they'd given up...

Saruhiko closed his eyes, feeling the dread from before threaten to swallow him up. He hadn't been able to let it go yet, not since leaving Nagare. He had felt sick with each soundless step forward, clutching Misaki's hand until the path had finally receded into dust, gone.

_"Your response has to be truly honest, you have to mean it. And believe me, I will know if you don't."_

He swallowed down the bile, the urge to vomit.

"It almost doesn't feel real," Misaki said again, eyeing Saruhiko as he stared into the intricate designs of the marble.

_No, it doesn't_. Who knew if it was. Saruhiko didn't trust much anymore. But he knew this wasn't a dream, he'd long since stopped his skepticism over it. He was dead, he'd gone on this insane journey with a complete stranger, stupidly fallen for said stranger, and now...

Well, he'd find out huh?

"Thank you Saruhiko."

The taller blinked in confusion, and had his breath momentarily stolen by the look on Misaki's face. Tired, but still bright and all consuming, the way Misaki should always be. It was a weird moment he had then, staring at Misaki and really taking in his face, the bags under his eyes, his dirt marred skin and bloodied hands. He looked close to collapsing, they probably both did, and Saruhiko wouldn't have minded much, burying his face in the other's neck and staying there. Misaki's hand was cold despite their contact, his skin scratchy, but it warmed Saruhiko in a way fire never could, coupled with those amber eyes which had captured him since day one. It was in that one strange moment, in front of hell's gates, and without much surprise, that Saruhiko knew he loved Misaki. "Back then...I know you didn't have to do this with me, but you did. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been here with me."

Denial bubbled in his throat. What had he done? It was Misaki, pulling them all along...Saruhiko had been pathetic and withdrawn, not worthy of any praise, not at the start. Not when it had counted. If only he'd--

"Shut up, whatever you're thinking, dumbass," Misaki said with a light laugh. "We're here because we worked together, equally, get it?"

In all honestly it was a weak statement, said barely above a whisper, but it held a finality in it which Saruhiko couldn't dodge. On any other occasion, Saruhiko would've been able to dismiss that, hell, it was what he was good at. But with Misaki staring at him like he was, with nothing but pure fondness in his eyes...

He didn't have the heart to fight it, or to voice his internal fears. To bring up how Misaki shouldn't be so hopeful they'd succeeded. Munakata had said there was no guarantee of anything after all, what if they'd done something wrong? Saruhiko was also nervous about meeting with Mikoto, just on the other side of the gate, the very thought making him want to turn right around. They were all completely reasonable things to worry about, to anguish over, but he wouldn't, not with the person he... _loved_ putting so much faith in him.

For the redhead, they'd done it. At a cost, but they'd survived. They were going to go home, and set things right. How could he bring himself to dispute any of it?

So he would wait, because even if he couldn't do it, couldn't bring truth to the outcome of their journey, Mikoto would eventually.

For now, he'd do what he'd probably always wanted to.

He cradled Misaki's face, his palm shaking as he cupped his cheek; Misaki didn't look surprised in the slightest, and maybe that was all he needed. "So sure of yourself," Saruhiko said with a weak scoff, leaning forward until their foreheads were touching. He didn't have the perfect words, or at least, no way to convey them. But, his mind was filled with Misaki, would never not be, and he hoped he could show it. "But...you too."

_Thank you, Misaki._

Misaki's hands tangled in Saruhiko's hair when their lips met, the kiss deep and containing too many feelings at once, and Saruhiko kept coming back for more, because he'd never get enough. Misaki was everywhere, was going to be a part of him for the rest of eternity, there was no denying it. If they'd met sooner, the proper way, maybe things could've been different. He breathed in the other's scent, mapped out his skin, because it might just be his last chance. Misaki sighed into the kiss, his lips moving hungrily, before his breathing stuttered at the sound of the wind howling around them, and Saruhiko knew there would be no more waiting.

"I think…I love you, Saruhiko." Misaki's arms were around him, trembling along with his words, and squeezing him one last time before he pulled away, the shining amber gaze flickering to the wall before them. "Are you ready?"

Saruhiko chose not to answer, knowing words would never be enough from his mouth, and simply reached out, palm sliding onto the smooth marble, and taking no comfort in the fact that he was the first ever to do so. Misaki's hand joined him, flat on the rock, together as always.

He wasn't prepared for whatever was about to happen, but he'd face it head on, like Misaki had shown him. At least if nothing went right, he'd always have the memory of Misaki's lips on his, and the redhead standing by his side.

The wind stopped altogether, and then the wall began to part.

\--

"What are you doing?" A shrill voice rang through the room, more and more impatient with each passing moment.

As if the dilemma at hand weren’t stressful enough.

"Yeah, get on with it!"

There was an irritated grunt at that, for once accompanied with words. Well, at least Mikoto was on his side. "We want to wait."

"Why? Why wait? Just zap them where they need to go, they touched the gate!" A whiny, annoyed voice rang through the meeting room as the pool reflected the image of two young men passing through hell's gates.

"You've babied them a ton, he has a point."

"No one is _babied_ on the Return." Douhan’s commanding voice silenced the childish one, her eyes narrowing slightly as Nagare approached.

"Yes, yes, I agree. But we shouldn’t bring up useless truths. We all gave them favor.”

“Yes, but—”

 "Enough." Munakata frowned at the floor, lifting his cane high before bringing it back down, the noise piercing. “That’s…enough.”

There was a tense silence, a few hums of irritation disrupting it a few times before the sound of footsteps clicking on the tile overpowered it all. Munakata walked until he was at the pool, stopping to observe the events closer. Regardless of what any of them said, it fell on Munakata’s shoulders to communicate the will of the universe.

All occupants of the room peered into the water, the somber mood detectable to even the most insensitive.

There was no easy way to go about this, and there shouldn't ever be. Mikoto was especially grim in his silence, and Munakata wouldn’t fault him for not backing him up in this instance. The rest of the room’s occupants backed off upon receiving Munakata’s hard stare, the useless protests dying as they all made way for Munakata to pass them.

“Time, I am aware that I am asking a lot of you, but I would encourage you to be sympathetic to these two’s plight,” Munakata said, addressing the lanky man with violet hair, and the other nodded in apology, the last of his hostility diminishing.

Yes well, it is difficult to not feel some affection for the two Returners. Munakata himself had grown quite fond of them, and yet he couldn’t manage a smile, not an inkling of one.

With a final, yet reluctant agreement around the circle, a portal was opened.

The man in the seat beside him stood up with a low grunt, the chain at his belt echoing in the quiet stillness. Munakata nodded to him, making sure he would keep order in his absence, and addressed the crowd for the last time on the matter.

"I believe they deserve a proper explanation."

\--

Yata couldn't know if it was a blessing or a curse to not see hell upon entering through its actual gates. The world of apparent suffering was separated from the entrance by a small, regal building. Or at least, that's what he guessed. The building was shrouded in fog on all sides, no one and nothing else in sight. It almost looked like an ancient palace, or the ruins of one, and only a small chunk. It was a much appreciated let down if he was being honest. When he thought of hell, he'd been expecting torturous heat, unending screams, maybe demons and criminals, not...nothing. In a way it was good, he wouldn't give himself more nightmares by actually witnessing whatever hell actually looked like, being either a fiery pit or filled with creatures, he wasn't sure. Would probably never be, or he really hoped not. Though, he doubted anything could be worse than what they'd already done. The things he'd seen and overcome, what he'd given up...hell couldn't possibly come close, and he was nearly certain of that.

Saruhiko tensed beside him, observing their environment with a similar mix of confusion and relief, before settling on the landmark ahead of them.

Yata watched as he paled, the fear still evident as ever in those clouded blue eyes.

_What are you thinking?_

_What's hurting you? We can hurt it back._

All that and so much more was on the tip of his tongue, but they wouldn't come out, wouldn't risk shattering the abnormal silence around them for fear of somehow fucking everything up.

Okay, so maybe he was more than just a bit scared as well, he could admit it. But there was no way they could stand there forever!

"Saruhiko...what--"

"He's in there," the taller spoke, level and neutral despite the anxiety he radiated.

"Huh?"

"The devil, this is where he lives no?" Saruhiko began walking forward stiffly, pulling Yata along with seemingly renewed courage. He clicked his tongue, a welcome response that Yata had actually grown to miss. "Useless. Nagare said we'd be evaluated at the gate, why does he need to meet with us?"

Regardless of the displeasure laced in the tone, Yata felt the need to ground Saruhiko in some way, like the other had always done for him. They looked out for each other, but in this case, Yata probably couldn't convince Saruhiko otherwise.

Saruhiko was afraid of Mikoto-san. He had been since the very first moment, in spite of the man's laid back exterior and the help he'd offered. Yata couldn't understand, but he wouldn't hold it against Saruhiko, he couldn't control it. Besides, if Mikoto-san was the devil, or something similar, then surely there was some reason to worry...right?

Although, compared to the secretive nature of Munakata, Yata couldn't say he didn't respect Mikoto-san just a bit more.

His own feelings aside, he'd be there for Saruhiko, no matter what.

"I don't know but...whatever he has to tell us, we can handle it. I'm sure it'll be over soon," Yata tried, stepping in between the taller and the door as they came to it. He wanted Saruhiko to look at him, really see him, and know he wasn't lying. "Whatever happens, it's you and me at the end of it, got that?"

One way or another, they'd both come through.

Saruhiko seemed to know that without Yata having to say it aloud too, because he gladly closed the distance between them, resting his forehead on Yata's with closed eyes. It was like he was taking in the moment as much as he could, like it was the last time.

Yata wouldn’t let himself worry about what that could mean.

Instead, he waited until the other pulled away, wordless as he nodded, and moved them towards the door.

\--

Old, torn tapestries lined the unstable walls of the room, tattered paintings and chipped vases lying about the floor.

Saruhiko didn't care though, had no curiosity left in him when it came to the afterlife. He didn't bother listening to Misaki's mumblings about "Suoh dynasty artifacts" or anything alike. Of course, he'd connected the dots long ago, knew it had something to do with the devil's past, but he didn't have it in him to be interested. Knowledge or not, insight or none, he'd had enough. He had no desire to be there, in front of Mikoto, but at least he'd expected it. And now? The guy was nowhere to be found, not even lounging in the seat at the center of the room unperturbed, in the way Saruhiko so loathed.

Typical.

Misaki was still poking around, but even he eventually felt antsy, pacing around the small space with energy Saruhiko couldn't believe he possessed. It was a miracle Saruhiko himself was standing at all.

Misaki wasn't having it though, fighting his exhaustion. He was much too anxious for the outcome of the journey to finally be revealed, but probably anticipated it more than Saruhiko, who was trying his best to keep his fear in check. However, watching Misaki search around was at least a welcomed distraction. That hadn’t changed, his desire to keep his eyes on Misaki, the other’s bright eyes and fiery demeanor being all it took for Saruhiko to see light in the world, if just for a second.

At that moment it was harder though, getting that same rush, when Misaki was so eagerly trying to find out the conclusion of what had been an uncertain, but terrible, journey. Much to Saruhiko's confusion, the redhead even resorted to checking every corner and crevice for a sign of life.

But there was no one. No usual grunts or the dragging of heavy footsteps, no clinking of metal. No sign of the devil he'd come to so dread. Or, so he'd thought.

"I do apologize for my tardiness, I was dealing with some business."

Saruhiko whipped around as the portal closed behind Munakata, but any words of displeasure or criticism died in his throat painfully upon actually seeing the angel. Already, Saruhiko could sense something off. Munakata's usual gleam and his knowing smile were gone, replaced with slow footsteps and an austere air. It wasn't the face of someone who had good news to deliver by any means, and Saruhiko was excessively put off by the fact he himself wasn't surprised by the somberness. And yet despite this, the hope and anticipation beat hard and fast in his chest, the overwhelming pleas aching to spill from his lips.

_Please let me go home._

_Please let us go home._

It was all he wanted. Saruhiko felt like a sniveling child from the sheer desperation alone, and he redirected that anger at Munakata himself, who really shouldn't have been standing there in the first place.

_Just send us home._

That was how it should've worked no? He didn't want congratulations or to be seen off. So how come...

Again, his stomach protested, aware of the gravity of the situation before Saruhiko allowed himself to fully acknowledge it. The denial inside him grew more and more. Not even having Munakata there, instead of Mikoto, did much to relieve the apprehension.

Part of him knew. Part of him had known since leaving Nagare's. But he denied and denied, deflecting the blame elsewhere,  _anywhere,_ even to the angel before them.

"What are  _you_ doing here?" Saruhiko spat, voice shaking, and Misaki too muttered in annoyed agreement.

"Yeah, where's Mikoto-san?"

Munakata's calm steps halted, and his brow quirked, the first sign of a not so grim emotion since he'd stepped into view. It was gone shortly however, giving way to his steady gaze and careful words. "I can see your confusion, given what Change told you, and I apologize for lying. However, I felt it necessary to speak with you, and the duty falls to me regardless I'm afraid. Suoh was left to deal with other matters, though I assure you, he can see and hear everything."

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, a plethora of responses bubbling up inside him, on the tip of his tongue. What was Mikoto good for? Where was the reasoning behind him having such high power? Maybe the devil  _needed_ to be so uncaring, dealing with lost souls and the depths of hell. But something about this was grating on his nerves, and he couldn't fathom why it was sticking to his thoughts, like a germ. He hated not being able to figure things out, and in this case it was especially irritating. He knew nothing, other than  _something_ was off.

Well, at least it provided a mild distraction from Saruhiko's true predicament, and why they were there in the first place. Munakata's solemn tone...

Again, he deflected, voice choppy and irritated, because he needed to be angry at  _someone_ , lest he lose it before his suspicions were actually clarified.

_Denial, denial. Deflect, avoid. That's all you do, huh?_

Saruhiko hissed to himself, glaring into the void where Munakata happened to be standing and-- _goddamnit, why are we here?_

"What, can't do his own job?" Saruhiko glanced towards the seat in the center of the room, the unspoken meaning reaching Munakata easily. Mikoto's lack of presence was becoming more of a source of anxiety than relief for Saruhiko, as if the other were off plotting something or...or he didn't know what. He didn't know shit. But Mikoto wasn't  _there_ , and it couldn't be good, right?

_All he has to do is sit around. He can't do that right?_

The fact that Misaki wasn't even defending Mikoto was also strange, but understandable. The redhead was getting impatient next to him, fidgeting constantly. Saruhiko could tell from simply being next to him; Misaki radiated agitation, and he nearly reached over in some awkward show of comfort, when the flash of something starved lit up Munakata's face. Waiting, expecting.

Saruhiko and Misaki both inhaled for reasons unknown, and while Munakata looked no less grim overall, his mouth twitched up ruefully.

"Ah...quite. I suppose hell is a tough place to manage," he spoke carefully, turning around with grace to begin walking to the throne. "It would be advisable for the rightful deity to take his place here when it is required. Order is important, as I’ve said before. I'm glad you can see that, Fushimi-kun."

Munakata sat elegantly, falling into the seat with familiar ease and comfort, his cane sitting perfectly against the armrest, and Saruhiko's mind finally pieced the fragments together, the revelation a slap to the face.

_Order_.

_“I know it’s true for Munakata-san especially, he likes order, so this job is quite painful for him."_

The true reasons behind Totsuka's words. The insinuation that order was hard to maintain.

The way Munakata stared at heaven as if it was something truly novel, a place he was not allowed to go.

The fact that Munakata had refused to step through the portal when dropping them off in the utopia.

He'd been unable to.

Because Munakata wasn't in charge of heaven, was he?

Of course. _Of course._

_Order is important, needed, when dealing with chaos. When dealing with..._

"It's you," Saruhiko breathed out, his body torn between relaxing and backing away as quickly as possible. It was a strange mix, the part of him which knew he should be afraid, and the part which continued to respect Munakata regardless. "It's always been you."

To feel betrayed, relieved, or just plain stupid, he couldn't decide.

Munakata tilted his head, as if  _honored_ with the realization. Saruhiko was mostly at a loss, Misaki jolting him a few times in worry, and it kept Saruhiko grounded to reality in some way at the very least.

"Wait, Saruhiko...what's--" Misaki glanced anxiously between the ang--well, _Munakata_ and Saruhiko, frantically trying to catch up with what was happening. Well, so was Saruhiko.

The biggest let down of the situation was probably the joke which was Mikoto. _Mikoto_ , who'd been the real angel all along.

_Fuck._

"He's the devil, this whole time and he never said anything," Saruhiko seethed, unable to form any coherence for his anger to come out. Luckily, Misaki had no problem with it. The redhead blinked, showing only a fraction of the shock Saruhiko felt, probably less put off given his dislike for Munakata anyhow, but he still managed to gape and jolt away from the deity.

"What...what the hell?! That's--"

"In my respectful defense, you are the ones who assumed," Munakata sighed quietly, and the pitying gaze from before had returned. "And it wasn't pertinent information in my eyes. My domain does not change my desire to help you. It doesn't alter my sympathy or personality." He paused, violet eyes flitting to the ground for half of a second. But it was enough, it was enough for Saruhiko to feel unwavering fear all over again, the mantra increasing in volume inside him.

_You lied._

_You lied._

_You **lied**. _

And the worst part was, he wasn't talking about Munakata.

"Nor..." Munakata rose from his seat once more, bowing in an apology which would never make any of this okay. "Nor does it change how sorry I am for what I'm about to tell you."

Saruhiko dared not meet Misaki's concerned eyes, all too convinced he was no longer worthy of the gaze.

\--

For Yata, the words went by too fast, his heart speeding up just to stall once again in a fit of dread.

"Yata-kun, it is with my deepest admiration that I commend you for this success." Munakata smiled softly at him, but his eyes twinkled with a deep regret which Yata couldn’t understand. "You will be allowed to return home, and it will all be the same as before. You should be immensely proud of yourself."

Those were it, the words he’d wanted to hear all along. Yet now, they seemed unreal, untrue, like it would be snatched away in an instant in some cruel test.

There was just silence though, Munakata sad smile, and the weight of the sentence filling the room.

_You will be allowed to return home._

His knees threatened to collapse under him, sending him to the dirty floor, the happiness taking on a weight which he had no idea how to hold. Yata stopped hearing anything else, the urge to cry hard to resist as he repeated the words to himself.

_You can go home. You did it. You'll see mom and everyone, and--_

As the words settled in his mind, he got stuck on one aspect, and his eyes burned more with unshed tears. Confused, he spoke, his voice soft and disbelieving. "Wait...the same as before, you mean--"

Munakata tilted his head forward, and Yata nearly burst from the relief blooming in his heart. "Nagare's trial was a test, but none of the consequences were real. I’m afraid time and reality can only be manipulated so much. We just needed to see if you could rise to the challenge, and you did. You may keep your art, and the skills associated with it."

The tears spilled, washing over his face, probably blending with his dirt caked skin unattractively, but what did he care? It had been a test, it hadn’t been real, he could go back to his work! At the mention of Nagare, he thought he heard Saruhiko choke, but Yata was too far overcome with joy to take it as anything other than surprise, and his first instinct was to crush Saruhiko in a hug. So he did.

Saruhiko was tense against him, but Yata hoped he could feel the gratitude and love laced in the gesture. It was lame, but Yata didn’t know what else to do. He was just…so thankful Saruhiko had agreed to come with him, couldn’t imagine not knowing or being without Saruhiko. When they were back to their lives, he’d show it properly, they’d do things the normal way. Or well, as normal as they could manage. Yata pulled away, wiping the water from his eyes hastily, but fresh tears appeared in the wake of old.

Was this real? He hoped. He wanted it to be more than anything else. Going home, with Saruhiko, getting to do what he loved again...

He knew they could do it. Knew it from the first moment.

Yata wondered if kissing Saruhiko would make the other upset right then...

Probably best to wait. For now Yata laughed, hanging off Saruhiko’s arm to balance himself. "Saruhiko! Did you hear that? You'll see your friends, it'll all be the same and—

Munakata cleared his throat at the same time Saruhiko cringed, as if struck, and the atmosphere of restoration was promptly erased, kicked to the ground cruelly as Saruhiko stared down, avoiding Yata’s gaze. Stubbornly, and with heavy denial of the strangling tension around them, Yata grabbed his face, tilting his chin up to get a better look.

It confirmed the worst. Yata's smiled dimmed as soon as he saw Saruhiko's expression, the harsh lines of guilt and distraught piercing a sword in Yata's side from how much he hated seeing the other in pain. Why was he in pain? It was so odd, because it wasn't shared this time, and it bothered Yata more than anything. They had made it...and Yata was happy, so deliriously happy, and Saruhiko should've been too.

But he wasn’t, and the fact something must be wrong to cause such a thing, made Yata’s chest ache.

"Saru..."

"I'm afraid, Fushimi-kun's case is different." Munakata spared them both, his voice calling them to look up, and suddenly, Yata didn’t want to hear what he had to say at all. The deity took a deep breath, the pause far too long for Yata’s liking before he began. “During the trial of Change, I’m afraid Fushimi-kun was not honest, a major requirement for the test. I’m sure you know that though, Fushimi-kun.”

_Lied? How—_

But he recalled Saruhiko’s hesitance, the strain in his voice when he’d answered yes to Nagare’s question. Yata knew, he knew, but he really wished he was wrong.

Yata prayed for it to be false, for Saruhiko to protest, but when the taller could only bow his head mournfully, the panic inside Yata completely revealed itself. He babbled, breathing harsh, and stepped in front of Saruhiko like a shield, one last time. “O-okay so, just…just ask him something else! I mean it wasn’t real anyways, it doesn’t—”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that. Fushimi-kun, you failed the trial, and in the Return, you either check every box, or you do not move on. I need to know you understand this.” Munakata’s eyes crinkled with sadness, and Yata shook his head furiously, enraged at being pushed aside but desperate to help Saruhiko. But he was powerless, he couldn’t do anything. It wasn’t him who had failed.

But what kind of bullshit was that? How could anyone tell Saruhiko, after everything he’d done, he’d failed. Yata thought he’d surely be sick, the grief and protectiveness swirling together in a helpless cocktail, and all he could do was stand there as Saruhiko forced his head up, looking like a kicked dog.

“I…understand.”

_No_.

Yata couldn’t hear this, _wouldn’t_ hear this.

He yelled, the tears coming back, his words choked. “Saruhiko! You—”

_You have to come back with me, you’re supposed to come back with me!_

A life without Saruhiko, someone he’d come to trust so fully, to crave and picture by his side…it was impossible. There was no way. _Please, fight this!_

Saruhiko trembled violently beside him, caging in the rage or disappointment he must’ve felt, Yata didn’t know. All he knew was Saruhiko was the image of utter defeat, and it wasn’t right. The taller made no move to plead or cry, his face stricken, eyes clouding over, as if nothing could reach him but Munakata’s final words.

“It is clear then. I’m deeply regretful things turned out this way, but over this, I have no control. Please…forgive me.” Munakata pressed on however, ignoring any of Yata’s outbursts, and the redhead never wanted to lash out at someone more. The deity pulled out two folders from his jacket, leafing through one with apparent guilt, and he delivered the words Yata had been dreading. “According to your file, you are ineligible for return from the afterlife. Yata-kun, it pains me to say it, but you will be traveling alone.”

_Alone_.

The words hit him cruelly, stealing the warmth from his chest and the clarity from his mind. Saruhiko wasn’t coming with him.

_Saruhiko_ …

Yata snapped. “N-no! No, that’s not right, you _can’t_ do this!” Yata screamed at Munakata, face flushed, but a sullen frown was all that was offered him. He clawed at his face from the frustration, drowning in his own denial as his knuckles turned white from fisting in his hair. “Fuck!” The singular word was pathetic, drenched in weakness as he struggled to breath.

“Misaki.”

The soft voice was what grounded him, the lost quality of it making him want to lead the source to safety. Yata’s body whipped around, and he turned his full attention to Saruhiko, who was staring at the ground aimlessly.

It was too reminiscent of how he had looked in the tomb, broken, unwilling to move, and Yata wanted nothing more than to shake him out of it. Tell him he could keep going…

But they were at the end, and there truly was nowhere else to go.

Yata flew to him, barely keeping them both from falling over, and buried his face in Saruhiko’s neck. “I’m sorry…Saru I’m so—I…” _I wish I could fix this._ “Don’t…”

_Don’t leave me._ Huh, how funny the demand was, when Yata was the one leaving.

The tears spilled anew.

“I failed,” Saruhiko lamented, the tone too much for Yata to take. “It had…nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t care!” _Goddamnit! You don’t get it!_ “You…you’re supposed to come with me, and we’ll play video games and go on d-dates like normal people and go to the stupid wedding rehearsal, and…and…”

_And go to the bar._

_See movies._

_Get an apartment._

_Be there for each other._

_Grow old properly._

“I know,” Saruhiko faltered, arms hesitantly coming up to grip Yata’s sleeves, hands clenching furiously in the tattered fabric. “But I can’t.”

_“I can’t.”_

The small admission, which begged forgiveness all on its own, broke the last of Yata’s hope, and he pulled Saruhiko closer, until the space between them was nonexistent, as it always should be.

“I’ll miss you. So much,” Yata stuttered, and his teeth drew blood from his bottom lip, barely containing another outburst. He felt like there was so much left to tell the other, but those words…those were the most important in that moment. “Saruhiko I…” _I won’t forget you, so you’d better not forget me._

“Yeah,” Saruhiko barely managed to stammer, inhaling Yata’s scent one last time, arms falling to his sides to hold Yata’s hands in his, savoring the feeling. “Me too.”

For Yata, it was unfair on so many levels, the anguish tearing him apart without mercy. It was how it was though, wasn’t it? There was no stopping it. He had to—

“Misaki…you should…” Saruhiko’s voice croaked pathetically, like the words were some of the hardest for him to say. Maybe they were, from the way Saruhiko had learned to cling to things. The taller probably thought it was foolish, and the possibility made Yata want to hug him all over again, envelop him in warmth and tell him it wasn’t true. It was okay to grieve, if he wanted to. But what proof was there? Yata was leaving, alone, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Saruhiko gave one last weak squeeze to Yata’s hand. “You should go.”

_It’s time,_ being the hidden meaning.  Yata could’ve never imagined being given the gift of life would leave such a bad taste in his mouth, would make him hesitate. He’d been gone so long, he missed everyone greatly, but without Saruhiko, could he really consider the journey back a success? The answer was a resounding no.

And yet, he would have to shoulder the weight of it, until death came for him again.

“Yes,” Munakata said, finally stepping towards them and pulling out Yata’s folder. “I believe the hour of your departure is finally upon us, whenever you’re ready of course.”

The feeling of Saruhiko’s hand slipping out of his made his shoulders slump, and it became harder to swallow. After cherishing the connection for so long, losing it was as if part of him was being clipped away. Whenever he was ready? How was he supposed to respond to that? He had no more words left in him which mattered. Yet he knew when he returned home he’d regret the thought, because there’d always be more he’d want to tell Saruhiko, always more he wished he’d said.

_“I think I love you.”_ Well, at least he’d had the guts to admit it.

Instead of speaking, he nodded stiffly, shudders wracking his frame as Saruhiko’s glassy eyes stared after him, tired, a husk of the brave man Yata had stood by on the journey.

Yata stood in the center of the room, fixing Munakata with a reluctant stare, because looking at anything other than Saruhiko at that moment felt like a mistake, and waited.

The ground beneath him shook, but he paid no mind to it, one thought crossing his mind as he saw Saruhiko sink to the ground at last, defeated.

_Goodbye_.

The words were in his head, but they weren’t right, and he refused to say them, only watching with agony as the image of Saruhiko faded before him, alluding him for a long time to come.

“Yata Misaki. Age twenty-one, born on July 20th. Returned on the evening of August 14th.”

\--

\--

“He doesn’t move.” It wasn’t one of Munakata’s usual observations, the ones said with slight wonder and amusement. It was a cold fact, devoid of everything except pity.

“He doesn’t,” Mikoto repeated, and Munakata could hear the silent ‘of course he won’t’ added into the mix. He didn’t feel the need to comment on it. After all, he understood, though he’d never personally coped with his own circumstances in such a way. When he’d been robbed of his life, his potential, he peeled back the grief to find opportunity. He’d made a new role for himself, embraced the duties which came with looking after mankind.

But Fushimi, his story was different.

The young man in question shifted in his spot on the floor, a rare disturbance to the stillness he’d been displaying over the past six months. All of time was like a flowing stream to Munakata, to all those like him. It changed and passed quickly, the years and decades rushing together. How long did it feel for Fushimi, he wondered, those six months since Yata Misaki’s departure.

He took one tentative step forward on the clean tile, his shoes making a distinct slick in the empty meeting room as he approached the pool, watching as Fushimi sunk further against the wall in hell’s throne room.

No changes, no words. What would it take to instill within Fushimi the same drive Munakata himself had adopted upon finding himself in the afterlife?

He raised his hand, moving as if to summon a portal. Surely, in time Fushimi would—

“Don’t.”

The gruff voice froze him mid-step, and Munakata was honestly shocked, which was rare. He’d known Mikoto long before their death, and while he could be reckless and impulsive, Munakata had grown to anticipate many of his actions. Well, at least before Fushimi and Yata had showed up. It seemed as if both of the young men had thrown them both through a loop.

_Never in all my centuries…_

“Don’t? And why is that?” Munakata replied without turning to face his partner.

“You’ve tried already,” Mikoto said, and Munakata could hear him as he rose from his chair, loud footsteps echoing in the silence. “He didn’t want to listen.”

At that, Munakata actually graced him with eye contact, turning with a questioning arch of his brow. Mikoto hadn’t said anything about Fushimi since the other had fallen into despair, and Munakata figured he simply hadn’t wanted to bother concerning himself with another lost soul, since it was Munakata’s job after all. Fushimi had never shown any particular fondness for Mikoto, quite the opposite, and the two seemed to be at a standstill when it came to conversation. He’d figured most of Mikoto’s favor was with Yata, someone more suited to his values. But apparently, that wasn’t the complete case.

Mikoto was correct too of course, though Munakata was not pleased with the knowledge or outcome of his efforts. Fushimi had refused him many times in the past few months, every word of advice or solace seemed to travel into one ear and out the other. Munakata had finally relented, realizing the situation was one Fushimi would need to come to terms with on his own.

Though now, Munakata was questioning if he ever would.

He lowered his hand, gripping his cane as he reasoned aloud. “Perhaps you’re right. Leaving him be is—”

“Lemme talk to ‘im.”

“ _Pardon_?”

Mikoto was beside him now, looking into the pool with an unnatural calmness, and the genuine emotion shining in his eyes had Munakata aghast. It wasn’t normal for Mikoto to exchange pleasantries with anyone, even he and Munakata would seldom talk for long periods of time, but in these circumstances, it was completely out of character. Not to mention, it wasn’t the most practical idea given Fushimi’s obvious dislike of him, and reluctance to comply.

“What makes you believe he will talk to you and not me? It’s obvious he never took a shine to your presence,” Munakata informed, trying not to let any of his shock bleed into his voice.

What was Mikoto thinking now? Surely it couldn’t be good, and Munakata would certainly be able to deduce such given the other’s elaboration.

And of course, Mikoto ignored his question completely. “He won’t ever wanna be here Munakata, not now. He’s not you.”

_He’s not you._

Munakata could’ve countered the statement in many ways, could’ve said that he certainly knew _that_ , it was obvious. Could’ve supplied how Fushimi’s thought process complimented his in many ways regardless of that, or how Fushimi was going through a hard transition period and that was it. It all would’ve worked, would’ve been an appropriate response had anyone else said it, with no hidden meaning or need for context.

But they didn’t work. They would never work, because Munakata knew Mikoto. He knew what the words truly meant.

_He’ll never adjust. He’ll never be satisfied being here, when he’d so much rather be there. Nothing you say or hope for will change that._

_He wants to live._

Life, Munakata thought, how badly had he ever wanted that? Certainly not as much as Fushimi, certainly not as much as Mikoto, who had both tried to get it back tirelessly. That was what he’d misunderstood. The solemn weight of the realization was harsher than he cared for. After all, if Fushimi never adjusted, he’d sit there, on the floor, for all of eternity. Someone with so much potential…wasted.

But…

There was a sudden spark in his mind, a curiosity about the partner beside him. What would Mikoto accomplish, talking to Fushimi?

The pool rippled beneath them, the young man in it remained unmoving, and for Munakata, it was less than tolerable.

He sighed finally, evaporating the tension between them, and finally turned to fully face the other. He only had one more question. _Even if he will never be like me…_ “I doubt he is like you either. What can you possibly offer?”

Mikoto’s shoulder blades shook slightly, the apparent amusement in the air grating on Munakata’s nerves, like he’d somehow yet to acknowledge the obvious. Or maybe he was hesitant to.

Mikoto reached up, tugging at his old ear piercing, the last connection he chose to have with Totsuka Tatara, even though he resided within Mikoto’s own domain. Totsuka, who Mikoto had foolishly attempted and failed the Return for.

Munakata remembered. Mikoto had fallen into grief shortly after, deaf to Munakata’s chidings about how he’d surely see Totsuka again, how the younger boy would forgive his broken promises, how he’d move on. It had all seemed so pointless to him at the time, Mikoto’s rage over the loss of life when he had the chance to make more of himself in heaven, watching over souls of the dead and knowing the secrets of the universe.

At one time, he’d probably called it selfish, not realizing that it was love instead.

The desperation for return, the guilt of failure, Munakata knew none of it. What Munakata had desired all those centuries ago, it had meant nothing to Mikoto, when compared to a life with Totsuka.

To Fushimi, there was nothing worth any value, when compared to a life with those he held dear.

He backed away from the pool, relenting without waiting for Mikoto’s elaboration. He knew it already.

_Understanding._

Mikoto could give that, if nothing else. How it would help Fushimi in any way, Munakata did not know, but at this point, it was worth the attempt. He nodded to Mikoto, a reaffirmation of his trust in the other man, and waited. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Mm, I do.”

And with his final inkling of dread quelled, Munakata opened the portal.

\--

“What do _you_ want?”

Munakata nearly startled; he hadn’t heard Fushimi’s voice in such a long time, and it wasn’t even addressing him. Mikoto still stood in the meeting room, facing Fushimi but unable to enter the space of hell, and Munakata had chosen to make himself scarce from view. While he did like being there for Fushimi, something told him whatever Mikoto had in mind would work best with just the two of them.

It didn’t quell his skepticism.

Fushimi’s eyes had quivered upon seeing Mikoto through the portal, and while fear was not the emotion Munakata would’ve preferred from the other, he was glad there was _something_.

Mikoto shrugged his shoulders, and Munakata watched from the pool as Fushimi’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Just to talk.”

“No thanks, _goodbye_.” Fushimi huddled in on himself, trying his very best to meld into the wall behind him.

But Mikoto didn’t budge, stayed put and going as far as to kneel to the other’s level, in a very subtle pressuring gesture. It was a tactic Munakata would not have tried, and was surprised Mikoto had as well. Pushing, regardless of different reasons for it, was not something either of them liked to do.

It had the desired effect though, because while Fushimi may have simply ignored anyone else for ages, it was obvious Mikoto’s presence was making him uncomfortable. The young man began to fidget, the most movement Munakata had seen from him in a while, until it was impossible for him to completely avoid Mikoto’s searing golden stare. The air between them was frozen, heavy in a way which was too unsettling given the amicable reasons for the visit. What was Mikoto doing? Munakata was about to step in, displeased with the caged animal routine; such things were an insult to all Fushimi had gone through, there was no point to thi--

Fushimi snarled, voice as loud as he would allow it in his exhausted state. “ _What_? What do you _want_? Munakata has said enough, there’s no need for you to come and half ass the same words.”

“You’ve given up,” Mikoto continues, undisturbed by the outburst, and Fushimi flinched notably.

“No shit, there’s not much left to do.” Fushimi was wary, Munakata could sense it, and well, he couldn’t blame him. From the conversation alone and on its face, it sounded very much like Mikoto was trying to provoke him somehow, reminding him of his faults and pitiful situation. But Mikoto was not cruel.

“That’s not like you.”

“The hell do _you_ know about me?” Fushimi spat, his tone laced with venom and helplessness, as if it was the first day all over again, when he’d fallen to his knees in desperation, loss… “I tried, I tried way more than I ever have or should have, and it wasn’t _enough_.”

Mikoto didn’t back down, undeterred, and Munakata watched as Fushimi opened up, no matter how upset. Surely this couldn’t solve all his problems, whatever Mikoto’s aim was. Though now, Munakata had a vague idea of his partner’s goal. Fushimi was right, there wasn’t anything left to do, but Mikoto understood the frustration which came along with that. Instead of trying to get him to move on like Munakata had, perhaps it was Mikoto’s goal to help Fushimi bear the experience, to function despite never being able to rid himself of it.

Still, something in Munakata’s mind questioned that as well.

Mikoto continued, calm as ever, refusing to move away from the shaking man across from him. “I read your file, saw you during the Return. You’re sposed to like problem solving, finding other ways—”

“I _failed_ the other way! Or were you not there? There’s nothing left to do, so go away! I’m sure you know what that’s like huh? Not being able to get it right...” Fushimi’s voice did its best to sound cruel, but it quivered with suppressed emotions, the words rushed and barely audible.

The image of Mikoto, defeated and wounded, flashed in Munakata’s mind, along with memories of a life he’d happily left behind.

_He does, he knows all too well._

The silence between them fell once more, and even Munakata was worried Fushimi had hit a sore spot for his partner. It had been so long since Mikoto’s attempt at Return, since Totsuka, but Munakata knew deep down Mikoto never stopped thinking about it, would always feel guilty for not succeeding. Even now, with Totsuka available to him whenever he wished, Mikoto stayed away, showing a cowardice and commitment which Munakata had never thought possible from him. He and Mikoto would not oversee the afterlife forever, their job wasn’t permanent, though their post was grueling and they were tethered to it for centuries. But it would come to an end, their reign, and they’d be allowed to retire to heaven as new beings took over, occasionally training the newcomers in the ways of the job. Munakata always wondered if Mikoto was waiting for that time, to finally speak with his beloved again…

_“I don’t wanna see him, until I can be with him forever.”_

That was what Mikoto had told him, all those centuries ago. As if every moment mattered.

“You’re right,” Mikoto said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I did. I wanted to be with the person I left behind, and when I couldn’t, I gave up, just like you.”

_Of course, you had no choice. Giving up was the sole option, I tried to tell you, all that time ago._

It was only when Mikoto had finally listened and picked himself up that his mood had improved, he’d begun to speak again, engage with Munakata and the other deities. It’s what Munakata wanted for Fushimi, movement, speech, some form of acceptance.

_But he’s in hell, forced to live in it. You have unlimited knowledge and omnipotence. It is not the same._

Yes, Mikoto was right. Munakata didn’t fully understand Fushimi’s despair, never would. But neither would Mikoto, sitting on heaven’s throne. It didn’t matter what hardships the two knew of and shared. Fushimi was another soul, sadly lost to hell’s barren landscape.

Munakata moved forward, set on pulling Mikoto away, when a sound cut through the air. Fushimi exhaled a loud, shaky breath, huffing in forced amusement, repeating words Munakata had already come to acknowledge despite himself. “See then? I get it. You’re telling me I should try to cope with it, well I _won’t_ , so you can—”

What he hadn’t expected, was Mikoto’s response.

“No, don’t cope with it. I wish I hadn’t. I was dealing with myself so much that by the time I thought of somethin’ else, he was dead. It was too late, I let him down. You don’t have to let your people down.” Mikoto smiled serenely at the floor as he rose up, leaving a gaping Fushimi in his wake. Munakata was no less shocked. It was a familiar sign, watching Mikoto stuff his hands into his pockets, one which often told Munakata of his partner’s finality, his boredom. Mikoto was finished, he’d said what he’d wanted, and it had done no one any good.

What had been the point? Fushimi didn’t need to feel worse about the situation, was Mikoto giving him permission to wallow in self-pity forever? A conversation was not needed for such a thing.

_So why…_

“You’re smart.” Mikoto said with a shrug as the portal began to close, gruff but loud enough for Fushimi to still hear, facing away as he walked back to his worn out chair. “Think about your problem, figure it out.”

The portal closed with a slash just as Mikoto was getting settled, and Munakata was at a loss for words, unable to yell or object as those golden eyes closed in certainty, feigning sleep.

\--

Saruhiko sat stunned on the filthy cement beneath him, his eyes never leaving the spot Mikoto had occupied. He couldn’t pinpoint how he was feeling, but could recognize it wasn’t the usual emptiness he’d been cultivating. He hated it.

He was frustrated, enraged, and even more humiliated than before, the familiar surges of desperation pulling at his heartstrings. They were all back again, the grief, the resentment, and for _what_? So Mikoto could dangle a lost dream in front of his face? So he could rub it in? Or was it really necessary to restate obvious facts? Or maybe it truly was unfair, a way to say _‘ha, you’re like me now, but not really, because you’re stuck here and I’m not.’_ What a fucking waste of time. Saruhiko wasn’t a stranger to cruelty, not by a long shot, but to think he couldn’t be spared now of all times, in his pathetic state, was a good kick in the ribs.

_Figure it out? Figure what out?_

Pointless. Munakata had tried already, to make him see other ways of making himself useful. Munakata had actually pardoned him of hell’s true nature, of having to live out his personal one like all the other lost souls, if only because the devil was weirdly fond of him. Or maybe because it wouldn’t matter, nothing could be worse than what he’d already done. Munakata had instead let him waste away here on the floor, trying to speak with him and offer him insight into the secrets of mankind. He wanted none of it.

There was nothing to figure out. He knew what he wanted, and he couldn’t have it. So, he would sit there, for all of eternity, until he lost his mind.

Saruhiko’s sole comfort through all of it, was knowing Misaki had made it out. Misaki would be someone, would make the life he wanted. Saruhiko wasn’t as bitter as he would have expected, but then again, he had changed a bit. Part of him ached sure, always asking why he hadn’t been enough, why Misaki had to go without him. But no, he’d always push those thoughts away the second they entered his mind. The last thing he would want was Misaki here, seeing him in this wretched state.

Saruhiko couldn’t help but laugh, devoid of any real amusement. _Figure it out, sure._ The rules of the Return had never allowed for any autonomy, not truly. It decided every trial, made its judgements without mercy. The rules were still clear though, nothing to work through or around, damning whoever was foolish enough to take up the task.

It was strange to remember now, his initial reluctance, and Misaki’s overbearing enthusiasm as Munakata coaxed them into the journey he was unable to regret, no matter how futile it had been. As if wishing to torture himself more, Saruhiko dully recited each rule to himself, noting the simplicity with clenched fists as he whispered each one into the stale air.

  1. _The Return is a journey. A dangerous one, and it never gets easier, no matter how many people attempt it._



He remembered reciting the contract, Misaki’s hand on his as they promised to endure it together. He recalled Munakata’s chilling words, about how no one had ever succeeded, how the closest person had collapsed just before reaching the gates. Well, guess there was one person now at least.

  1. _The route of the journey changes every time, it is impossible to predict what’s on it._



The changing landscape, the buildings and structures which would simply disappear along with doorways to caves and deserts.

  1. _If you fail, you are automatically sorted into hell by default._



Saruhiko glanced at his surroundings, the torn tapestries and distant screams painting a grim picture. He heard Totsuka’s voice, reminding him how those in hell were not allowed to see their loved ones, to watch over them…

And then there was Munakata’s, pitiful and apologetic as Saruhiko was forced to separate from Misaki. _“Hell is not the same for everyone, it takes one’s worst fears, and makes them live it for eternity.”_ Little did he know that sparing Saruhiko, allowing him to sit there alone in his own misfortune, was basically the same thing.

  1. _Once you begin the journey, there is no turning back._



The stairway from heaven, and the door with the writing, warning him of a fate worse than death itself. Misaki had tolerated none of it though, determination fierce as ever.

"As if something like that is gonna stop me anyways."

In the end, he’d been right.

  1. _There are no guidelines, but it is wise to stay on the path at all times._



He hadn’t. Misaki had been right there alongside him, pulling him in the right direction, while Saruhiko did the same for him. Saruhiko wouldn’t let go of Misaki’s hand for anything, something which had started out as a fear of separation had quickly morphed into a simple yearning for the touch. It backfired regardless though, hadn’t it?

  1. _The journey ends, truly ends, upon touching hell’s gates. Then you are evaluated._



And that was all.

There was no secret, no real place he could call foul and reverse his judgement. He’d done what was asked, put his trust into a system which promised him nothing, and had been rejected.

Do the journey. Stay on the path. Touch the gates. Receive judgement.

_Right. Fucking right._

Saruhiko felt his shoulders start to shake, whether from sobs or anger he didn’t know. Damn Mikoto, putting the thoughts in his head. Perhaps this was true suffering after all, the mocking rules echoing in his head forever as he laid on the floor, a broken slump.

When the side of his face touched the cold cement of the ground, he didn’t notice. Didn’t care.

_Do the journey. Stay on the path. Touch the gates. Receive judgement._

_Do the journey. Stay on the path. Touch the gates. Receive judgement._

_Do the journey. Stay on the path. Touch the gates. Receive judgement._

_Do the journey._

_Stay on the path._

_Touch the gates._

_Receive judgement._

_Do the…_

Saruhiko’s eyes shot open, his body lurching in on itself as his throat closed up.

It all stopped, as if he was experiencing death over again, the suddenness of the realization too heavy, too painfully obvious.

There was no way though. It couldn’t be…

_Figure it out, he’d said._

_Problem solving._

_Another way._

_Do the journey. Stay on the path. Touch the gates. Receive judgement._

Saruhiko felt bumps rise on his skin as he propped himself up on his elbows, the hard cement digging in without forgiveness. All the while, he felt none of it, the rules hammering away at his psyche, now with less mockery, and more insight. All along…

_Those are the only rules. There’s no more. There’s no restriction for—_

“Damn it,” Saruhiko whispered, the two syllables slicing through the air, eliminating any other unnecessary sound for him to process _. Damn it all._

_“I was dealing with myself so much that by the time I thought of somethin’ else, he was dead.”_

Something else, of course. Maybe Saruhiko hadn’t completely rid himself of his selfish tendencies after all. To not realize the clear answer. It was impossible though. Wasn’t it? The solution was too much, too difficult, it couldn’t be do—

_“Who the fuck cares? There’s a chance we’ll live again! Isn’t that enough?”_

_“C’mon! Don’t you have anyone you miss? Or that misses you?”_

_“I think I love you, Saruhiko.”_

No. It could most _definitely_ be done. He’d make sure of it.

Saruhiko knew where he belonged, and it wasn’t here. Not yet. The fact that an angel— _Mikoto_ of all people, had finally made him realize he should change things, only managed to settle in his stomach with mild discomfort.

Saruhiko supposed he could call them even. He didn’t have time to be petty about useless things, it wasn’t in his nature anymore. There was a lot to be done, and while he had time, he couldn’t get started fast enough. For the first time in months, he rose to his feet, his legs trembling from the sudden movement and adrenaline running through him.

He stretched out his muscles, ignoring the uncertainties threatening to run in his brain, deeming them worthless. He thought of Misaki, his home, and it weighed out whatever doubt lingered. Saruhiko was sure it would come back, it always did, was sure his strength would stutter every now and again, but for now, he used every ounce of determination to propel himself forward to the center of the throne room.

Saruhiko stared up at the ceiling, a rueful smile finding its way onto his face, and took what should have been the most obvious step from the beginning.

“Munakata, I need an audience.”

\--

There was a time, a few years back, when Saruhiko would routinely find Enomoto in his house upon arriving home, crouched over in the dark, and playing some new fantasy game. Saruhiko had never known exactly how the other had gotten in, but he had the lingering suspicion Seri had given him a spare key, as if it was insurance. Should something happen to her, someone had to be around to make sure he ate enough on the days he took his work home, holing himself up in the solitude he sometimes required.

He had grumbled about it constantly, about how unnecessary it was, but he never made a move to collect the keys from either of them. Besides, Enomoto’s presence was hardly invasive or unpleasant, unless something was truly on his mind, and it did happen on occasion. The other would curse at the screen a lot more, or slip up doing easy side missions, or would pause the game frequently, staring into the void of the television’s artificial light while Saruhiko clicked away on his laptop from the couch.

Saruhiko was not so good in those moments, and always felt there was something going unsaid. But, Enomoto never treated Saruhiko liked a therapist or someone to unload his problems on. If anything, Saruhiko now realized the other probably just wanted the company, while his mind navigated the storm of his emotions. Fine by him. If sitting on the uncleaned floor with a shoddy blanket and playing video games until midnight was helpful to him, Saruhiko wouldn’t complain. It wasn’t like it was inconvenient to him, or so he’d reasoned back then.

And so, one particular month, Enomoto happened to be stuck on what Saruhiko guessed was a difficult section of the game, and would not stop invading his apartment. Apparently, it was common knowledge Saruhiko had the best television out of them all. How nice.

So of course, Saruhiko had stayed too late again at the office, typing away until Hidaka had to physically threaten him to leave, and entered the living room to see the older boy there on the wood, wrapped in a blanket with his controller held tightly in his hand…

Saruhiko toed off his boots, the rain from outside echoing into his apartment before it was drowned out by the sound effects blaring from his living room.

_Ah, he’s here. Fine. Only if he turns it down._

As if already knowing, the volume decreased, but Enomoto didn’t glance his way, his smoky eyes too engrossed with the boss who was making quick work of his health bar.

Oh well, it wasn’t like Saruhiko particularly cared. This was what Enomoto did, came and played his game, the silence between them comfortable, if not a bit unsettling depending on Enomoto’s mood. And then the other would leave, feeling better or the same, smile on his face and a chipper goodbye which Saruhiko half replied to, if that.

So, Saruhiko did as he always did. He ditched the notion of a greeting, and sat himself on the couch, solely concerned with the document left open on his computer as he flipped it open. This was the routine, how things normally went.

Except, there were two people involved in this situation, and one of them actually felt like breaking the mold.

For the first time, Enomoto's quiet voice filled the room, causing Saruhiko's fingers to halt in their typing from the sheer rareness of it. "Say Fushimi-san...have you ever been in a relationship?"

As he spoke, his character on the screen fell over in a bloodied mess, dead.

Saruhiko resisted the urge to scoff, choosing to roll his eyes instead. It wasn't like Enomoto could see him anyhow. "No, of course not."  _I don't have time for things like that._

Relationships were pointless distractions, and they seldom worked out. Saruhiko had seen many marriages and partnerships crumble over the littlest things, or from the general inability to withstand the test of time. Honestly, it was too much of an investment with no guarantee of return, and he had enough to worry about. There was no room to worry about someone else, and why should he? It wasn't his responsibility. Relationships were never fair or equal, and they lacked any real reason, surviving on impulses and emotions alone. All in all, they weren't something he concerned himself with, or had any desire to. "They're worthless."

Enomoto's shoulders deflated at the words, a small 'oh' leaving his lips as he mindlessly pressed a button on the controller, starting the mission over again. Come to think of it, it was fairly late for him to be attempting it again. Enomoto was usually gone by then, eager to get home and spend time with his boyfriend, a thought which was less than pleasing to Saruhiko himself. But whatever, it cleared his apartment faster.

Enomoto remained though, and Saruhiko stared up at the ceiling in thought, picturing the dark office with just three desk lamps still remaining turned on. The only other people at the office had been Fuse and Hidaka, and the former hadn't been in the best of moods, posture dreary and work ethic minimal. It was the opposite of usual, and Saruhiko realized that it was most likely the same reason Enomoto was sitting in his apartment late at night, unwilling to go home. Plus come to think of it, the two had hardly glanced at one of another during the briefing that morning.

_Problems with Fuse..._

Well, if Enomoto expected Saruhiko's help with anything concerning his relationship, he would be disappointed. Saruhiko had no wisdom to offer, and even if he did, since when was he the resident therapist? Saruhiko had better, more pressing things to do than comfort Enomoto. If the relationship was really so much trouble, he should solve it himself or ditch it completely.

Something in his stomach stirred in protest at the thought of his two coworkers breaking up, but he didn't understand it or care to explore it, so he pushed it down as quickly as it came.

"You know..." Enomoto said, more to the darkness than Saruhiko, his character doing his best to dodge a monster's attacks on the screen. "I love this game. I play it all the time."

The subject change was odd, but no less unwelcome, and again, Saruhiko had to give up typing mid-sentence. The words did somewhat peak his interest though. Had the other played this one before? Surely Saruhiko would've remembered, but looking back, he had seldom paid attention to Enomoto's newest obsessions, or the games he repeatedly played.

"Oh," he merely said, hoping the silence would return after that. If Enomoto wanted to talk about video games, he should've chatted with his online friends, not pester Saruhiko.

"I know it so well, and it's always a lot of fun," Enomoto continued, unperturbed by Saruhiko's general disinterest. "I couldn't imagine having not played it you know? But...even though it's usually great, some parts of it are still really tough to get through, and I get frustrated and have to walk away for a while."

Usually, Saruhiko would filter the conversation out, as useless as it was, but the slight waver in Enomoto's voice was his indication of something hidden beneath the surface, and he picked up on it enough to deduce that Enomoto was not talking about video games.

Saruhiko sighed, massaging his temples. Ah, so it was about Fuse still. How nice. Weird metaphors and emotional pain aside, Saruhiko also didn't do relationships for the simple fact that they made no sense whatsoever. To enjoy something which causes so many issues was idiotic, at best.

There was probably no stopping Enomoto from continuing with his own logic however, but Saruhiko hoped it would be over soon.

But no, of course he wouldn't be that fortunate. Enomoto turned around, pausing the game, his dark eyes peering shyly into Saruhiko's. "But...sometimes I'm not sure I guess..."

It was an invitation to insert advice, advice Saruhiko didn't have and didn't want to give. Really, if he wanted things to end faster, Saruhiko could tell him to not waste his time, to put the game away forever, or so to speak. However, something in him didn't sit right with that option, his stomach churning in distaste at the harshness he deliberated on delivering. What it was he wasn't sure, but he was in no mood to challenge his body's natural reaction to things, so he analyzed it from a different angle.

Well, if it was simply a video game they were talking about, what would Saruhiko do in that situation?

"I guess if you actually did want to finish the game, you'd either have to walk away for a time, or continue trying until you got it right," he said, shrugging. "Those are the only two options, unless you give up all the way, which isn't wrong, but then you wasted time and money on something you never finished, which is annoying." Saruhiko clicked his tongue, deciding to end the conversation himself by ruthlessly typing on his laptop. He had to finish this report. "Besides, if you're stupid enough to get stuck on the same game all the time without finding a way out, you probably shouldn't complain about the game in the first place. You're obviously not very good at it, or you aren't used to it. You haven't played it enough, so either play it more or stop whining about it." As he finished, he pressed the enter button on his laptop, saving his work as quiet descended upon his apartment once more. Much better.

_One report done, eight more to go._

Enomoto hadn't moved from staring at him, Saruhiko could sense his eyes, but the silence was back, and he took the opportunity to move along, not worrying about any lack of sensitivity his words may have carried. Enomoto had asked, it wasn't his fault he had offered up an opinion.

Saruhiko figured he must've upset the older man significantly, if the thick air was any indication, but he ignored his own racing heart and clammy palms, signs of what he figured was guilt. Again, irritating. All he wanted to do was--

Enomoto's laughter broke through the silence, and Saruhiko's head jerked up in his direction, caught off guard by the other's beaming smile of unreserved happiness, the slight evidence of tears shining in his olive eyes.

What...

The laughter subsided, giving way to short, breathless giggles as Enomoto struggled to speak. "Y-you're right Fushimi-san, absolutely right!" Enomoto fell over with a thud against the hardwood, but it didn't stop his joy, nor Saruhiko's utter irritation.

Vaguely, Saruhiko noted how in his struggle, Enomoto had accidentally pressed another button on the controller, taking him to his menu of past achievements, where countless trophies sat.

Somehow, it just added to his frustration.

But Saruhiko made no move to interrupt the other, letting him slowly collect himself and get off the floor. Why he hadn't kicked the other out already, he wasn't sure.

After a while, Enomoto’s laughter became nothing but heavy breathing, and he managed to pick himself up, staring at the game menu with a new, relaxed ease, as if the tension from before had been an illusion.

The silence between them now, though comfortable and without pressure, managed to unnerve Saruhiko, and he wondered if he’d ever win, wanting silence but not wanting to deal with the emotions it could hold.

“You know what Fushimi-san,” Enomoto whispered finally, smiling softly as he clicked off the game console. Saruhiko flipped on the lamp beside the couch as darkness enveloped them, watching as the dimness illuminated the older man as he stood up and began to collect his things. There was a strange familiarity in his movements as he put things back in their rightful places, and Saruhiko wondered if it was a nice feeling itching at his skin, knowing his coworker spent so much time there that he knew the ins and outs. “I think I’m gonna head home, I’m sure Fuse would appreciate it if I was waiting for him. We have stuff to talk about anyways, I’m tired of avoiding it.” The way he said it was confident, with renewed energy and a fondness far too intimate for Saruhiko to feel okay with.

Enomoto stood, leaving Saruhiko frozen in confusion on the couch as he toed on his boots, sending one last, genuine grin his way. “Besides, I should spend less time feeling bad about stuff I did wrong, and more time on what I can do better the next time. Then it won’t be so scary right? Even though I always fear the worst, if I keep trying, I’ll mess up less…” Enomoto bit his lip then, seemingly conflicted about his words, before shrugging, and opening the door to allow the nighttime chill to seep in. “You should be less afraid too Fushimi-san, we’d all like it if you were. Thank you for your help, goodnight!”

Saruhiko had no response to that, could barely keep up with the dramatic turn Enomoto had taken, but he did manage to glare at the doorway as Enomoto left, calling back his jovial ‘goodnight’ and leaving Saruhiko alone in the darkness.

It was…strange, how much he’d gotten used to the sound of gaming effects as background noise. The silence almost seemed unnatural then, but he chose to focus on what Enomoto had said instead, albeit with displeasure.

Saruhiko hadn’t meant for his advice, if it could be called that, to be twisted in such a hopeful light. He was being logical, but Enomoto had treated it like some life philosophy which Saruhiko had no interest in. If anything, he hoped it would resolve Enomoto’s relationship issues so they wouldn’t have to have a similar conversation ever again. How had Enomoto even drawn such conclusions? How any of that night had made sense to the other, he didn’t know, but at least the older man was out of his apartment.

Somehow though, the conversation wouldn’t leave him, and he found himself working slowly for the next hour, rewriting sentences and fidgeting, which did nothing but frustrate him to no end. Eventually, he made for his room, where no doubt a sleepless night awaited him.

“Besides, I should spend less time feeling bad about stuff I did wrong, and more time on what I can do better the next time. Then it won’t be so scary right?

Saruhiko shook his head violently as he put his laptop away, the words echoing in his head, but not quite hitting home…

It was funny how much things made more sense down the road.

Now, all this time later, Saruhiko inhaled steadily as he strode into the meeting room. He ignored Mikoto’s knowing stare, the weird satisfaction laced in it, as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along. Saruhiko moved to cross his arms, to ease his trembling body, to find he was still as a statue, his very being already prepared for what was to come.

He straightened his back, meeting Munakata’s stare with fierce determination.

“You said at the beginning that you didn’t know much about the Return,” Saruhiko said calmly, the most secure he’d heard his voice in a while, the cloudiness over his conscious slipping away. Munakata was notably startled, and it must’ve been a sight.

Saruhiko, a failure, who had done nothing but sit on his ass for months, feelings sorry for himself…

Well, Munakata obviously didn’t realize that a large chunk of Saruhiko’s life was a good analogy to that, at least in his own head. Only now was he realizing how wrong that could possibly be. But regardless of his own perceptions, the time for sitting back was over. “You said the only rules were to stay on the path, complete the trials, and touch the gates of hell. Those are the _only_ requirements, right?”

Saruhiko already knew the answer, felt quite proud of himself despite the initially unwanted help he’d received, but he wanted the validation, the certainty. He wanted to know he wasn’t just dreaming it all up in some sick bout of desperation.

Munakata’s stiff limbs relaxed, a weird uneasiness filling the room, and Saruhiko could pinpoint the exact moment Munakata caught on. Mikoto must’ve too, from the way he grunted in satisfaction.

Saruhiko understood it wasn’t Munakata’s preferred alternative, from the way his eyes flashed in pity, but for Saruhiko, it was the option which made the most sense.

Munakata nodded, once, and it was all that was necessary.

_There are no other rules._

Nothing to stop him. His hands clenched at his sides, ready for a second fight after all the healing he’d gone through. Glad all of him was on the same page, for the first time.

“So then,” he began, the words echoing in his mind before he spoke them fully. “There’s nothing to stop me from trying it again.”

And from the way Munakata’s eyes widened, and the way Mikoto smiled, he knew it was the right way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'll be updating the final parts this week! Thanks so much for reading and supporting this fic, it means a lot to me <3 Comments are always appreciated! 
> 
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole  
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole


	9. Pick Me Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update will come tomorrow ^^ Enjoy!

The first thing Yata had done was cry, in fact sometimes he still did.

Standing there on the bridge, back to life, taking in all the forgotten sounds and smells of the world, he'd cried.

He could feel Saruhiko on his skin, his palm in his hand, but he wasn't  _there_. The warmth, the connection, it had been severed so harshly, and all Yata could do was run from the bridge, barging into his modest apartment and collapsing again at the sight of his unfinished canvases and projects. The tears seemed never ending on the first night.

He felt awful and light all at once, because  _yes, it's all here, I'm back,_ but Saruhiko was not. Somewhere else in the city, his friends were getting the news of his passing, were dealing with the grief Yata had barely caught a glimpse of. He knew their pain now. Losing Saruhiko, caring about him so much...

But how would he be able to explain that to them? He couldn't. As far as anyone else knew, he and Saruhiko were strangers. It was like a roundhouse kick to the stomach.

As if the universe was adding salt to his wound, his phone had pinged shortly after he'd arrived home.

**_Kusanagi_ ** _: Yata, the dinner tomorrow is cancelled. I can't talk now but, Seri's friend was in an accident. He didn't make it. I'll talk to you and the boys more when I can._

_Didn't make it_.  _Yeah, you have no idea._ Somehow, hearing someone else tell him made him feel so much more helpless. He couldn't imagine how Saruhiko felt, and wished he could comfort him in any shape or form.

But it wasn't possible. They were separated now, would be for the rest of time. It wasn't fair.

Saruhiko, he'd done so much, tried so hard.

"Fuck that," Yata whispered into the silence of his apartment, hating how dull the colors of his paintings seemed now, how generic the images. They weren't what he felt at all, didn't even come close to capturing true fear, true desperation or longing.

_Adoration_.

Yata swallowed the bile in his throat, dragging himself to his crappy bed, and refusing to take note of how it was so much better than rocks and dirt. It didn't feel right.

He fell asleep easily, exhausted and fed up, but his sleep was restless, plagued by visions of trials and Saruhiko. He'd holed himself up for three days, staring at the ceiling and deciding what to do next.

That was the only thing he could do, move on. Move forward. It was what he'd promised himself he'd do, at the very beginning of his journey. To back down now would be an insult to everything he and Saruhiko had gone through. He wouldn't let the other down.

So, on the fourth day, he'd picked himself up out of bed, and made way into his living room, tossing out a good portion of his paintings. They didn't feel like him anymore. His fingers itched to dig into his paints, to expel his emotions into true representations of himself, but he had to wait. There were other things he had yet to do before he got lost in his work.

Yata hadn't been ready to face the guys right away, as much as he'd missed them. He needed time to adjust, to reign in his emotions. He turned down their invites to movies and dinners, and no one questioned it much, since everyone was more concerned with Kusanagi's situation. Yata didn't think he'd be able to stomach it, having everyone offering condolences, while Yata knew how hard Saruhiko had tried to come back.

Avoiding Kusanagi himself was fairly easy. He was busy pushing back wedding plans, and comforting his fiancé. Yata almost felt guilty, but in the face of everything else, it was the least of his worries. He was of no use to his friend anyways until he got himself together. Once he did that, he'd offer all the help in the world.

Slowly, he was picking himself up.

At the end of the second week, he finally did what he'd always wanted to, ever since reciting the contract in the afterlife.

He went to see his mom.

\--

He heard a muffled 'be right there!' through the door, and the light scurry of footsteps before his mother appeared in front of him, fiery eyes catching in the warm sunlight of the day. Her calm expression quickly morphed into one of confusion, then surprise, before finally settling on immense, blinding joy. It was then that Yata broke, and it all hit him again—just when he thought he could handle this. How had he been away for so long?

He fell into her arms in the entryway of the house, barely managing to sob out an apology as she yelped in shock. She smelled like detergent and fresh spices, evoking the memories of his childhood which he'd neglected for so long. He'd missed her, he'd missed her so  _much_.

"M-Misaki! What are yo--"

"I missed you mom, I'm...so much has...I'm sorry, I," he choked the words out, snuggling further into her, like he'd done as a kid, sure his mom could protect him from all the world's real problems. "I n-needed to come home."

She stiffened for but a moment before her muscles relaxed, her arms coming up without question to cradle him tightly.

In that moment, it had all been worth it. All the struggle and all the nightmares, all for this. All for his mother smoothing her hands over his back, and whispering sweetly until he calmed down.

Yata lost track of how many times he apologized for not visiting more, for not coming back, for not calling, and all the while she listened, silent until he was all talked out and drained from crying.

Of course she'd be upset that he was barely apologizing now, how could she not? He'd been away for so long, seldom reached out to her despite all she'd done for him. He deserved any harsh words she had to offer, and coldness or resentment. He knew it was her right, but he'd make it up to her in whatever way he could, he'd--

She chuckled, kissing his forehead as if nothing had changed, and Yata's breath caught in his throat as she said the words he'd been longing to hear, shattering the last of his guilt. "Oh Misaki, there is nothing to forgive," she whispered, voice giving away her beaming smile. "You can always come home."

And really, if only for that second, he felt invincible again, though his voice was barely a whisper. "I will Mom, I promise."

Though he couldn't do much more other than return her hug in a vice grip, somewhere in the back of his mind, Yata resolved to tell her everything someday, about Saruhiko, about all he'd endured.

But for now he kept her close, and eagerly awaited the sound of footsteps as his siblings emerged from their rooms, welcoming him home for by no means the last time.

\--

By the end of the second month, he was picking himself up more and more. It had taken a lot for him to realize it, but of course, though Saruhiko was gone, Yata knew not all was lost.

His gallery showing was moved until a later date, the owners being sympathetic to his explanation of a loved one passing, and it gave him more time to focus on creating new works which satisfied him. There was no rush now, the owners had liked him so much in person, they'd given him the green light to contact him whenever he was ready.

It was nice, not working under a time restriction. The paintings which remained from before his time in the afterlife he'd decided to sell, and they'd gotten him enough to get by for a while, along with money from his part time job.

Yata saw his friends as much as possible, never stopped letting them know how much he appreciated them. They made fun of him now for being too sentimental, but oh well. He helped Kusanagi too, though it was hard, and after so many months, the wedding planning was back on. Meeting Saruhiko's friends...had been devastating, but he'd controlled himself throughout the dinner, allowing himself to cry when he was back home alone.

They seemed to be doing alright, but he could see the notable emptiness in their eyes, because it was the same kind he felt, deep in his soul.

Nevertheless, things moved on, and he never stopped thinking of Saruhiko, with each new endeavor. He was taking it slow, readjusting to life, and for once, it felt amazing. But the empty spot in his life would remain forever, one he couldn't fill, where someone else should've been.

Replacing Saruhiko was impossible too, that much he knew.

Despite the missing piece, Yata was happy. He was doing well, better than ever. His paintings, the ones which he worked on in his free time, hadn't suffered along with his heart. If anything, he was finally pleased with them, no matter how somber some of them turned out. Yata had learned more about himself on the journey than he ever felt possible, and now he could communicate that while doing what he loved. He also found himself painting a lot of night landscapes, abstract shapes with shadows and rich blues, all his secret tributes to Saruhiko.

Sometimes it got to be too much, painting with the other in mind. Yata missed him, wanted to kiss and hold him, and the yearning would tear him apart at times. On a particularly bad night, he'd nearly tossed all shades of blue in the garbage, his heart aching.

But no, Saruhiko was alive in his work, and it was everything to Yata, that last thread which linked them together. So he continued, creating art inspired by his family and friends, as well as the one he'd hold dear until the end of time.

Sometimes, he wondered if Saruhiko would like his pieces, if he'd be able to recognize the overwhelming love behind them. The sketches of the taller, all fine boned and charcoal, he kept hidden in a drawer, only to be seen by his eyes. Nothing beat looking at the original though.

Yes, he'd put himself back together nicely, he was happy with the direction he was going in, knew it would all work out. In a way he was thankful for the Return, without it, he didn't know if he'd appreciate everything as he did now. That being said, he'd never want to do it again, nor would he wish it on someone else. It was simply too cruel, with a near perfect guarantee of failure. He still dreamt of it, woke up drenched in sweat and breathing harshly. How he'd managed to make it out, he didn't know. But he had. He had come through, beaten the odds.

And yet, Yata would've given anything to have Saruhiko back with him.

\--

Six months later, and this would be the last time he would be here. Yata stood on the freshly mowed grass, staring at the stone with fresh orchids laid down in front of it.

_Sapphire, like his eyes._

He kicked at the dirt, willing his heart to calm down.

Initially, he'd made a habit of visiting the other's grave site, making sure none of Saruhiko's friends would be there and question him. They didn't know each other after all. What a damn joke.

Yata laughed to himself. It had seemed like a good idea at the start; Yata had hoped it would make him feel closer to the other, in  _some_  way, being there where Saruhiko was buried.

But visiting Saruhiko's grave hadn't felt right, seemed heavier and heavier with each occasion. Because he knew it meant nothing, Saruhiko couldn't see him, couldn't hear him. Nothing was below the dirt except the shell of the one who'd risked his life with Yata, who Yata had protected and come to love. 

Standing there, in front of his boring tombstone, was not something Saruhiko would've wanted.

And so, Yata decided to stop. After today, he would never come back.

He would carry Saruhiko with him instead, no matter how painful the ache, and hoped that Saruhiko would think of him too as he sat in hell, alone. Maybe it would help to get him through it, until Yata could see him again. Yata would give up heaven, if it meant being with the other again at the end of his life. Regardless of if he'd suffer, he would forfeit.

Part of him knew Saruhiko wouldn't care for that either, would probably call him impulsive and unthinking, and it made Yata smile more than anything.

The tears stung, but he kept them behind his eyes. It was time to go. No more crying.

However, as all the noble thoughts crossed his mind, he couldn't help but feel something uncertain in the air around him, as if the fading landscape of the cemetery knew something he did not.

\--

The swirling wind, no matter how eerie, was somewhat of a comfort now.

Or, perhaps it was to be a sound of mockery, the last thing he heard before...

Saruhiko took one more step, all he could manage, and then he was falling to his knees, his soles worn and muscles giving out. That was to say nothing of the broken bones he was undoubtedly sporting.

This, this was what he had been avoiding. For him to succumb to exhaustion, for him to be  _lesser_. Sand hit his face, and as much as it stung, it kept him awake. For how long, he wasn't sure.

_Dammit_ , he thought weakly, the energy behind any form of frustration having left him long ago.

_Long ago..._

As if to emphasize the observation, he dug his gnarled fingers into the sand below him, eyes peering around the vastness of the final stretch of the journey. Unless it was all a cruel joke, then he had done it, hadn't he? He nearly whimpered from the possibility that he hadn't. But..from the looks of it...

He was at the end again, the gate was...where was...

Saruhiko's eyes were painful to blink, so dried out and strained, he wondered how much longer he could keep them open. How much longer until he was blind...

The glasses he'd been given, well, they'd fallen off some time ago, in the midst of the second trial...possibly...he couldn't remember. But he remembered screeches of  _something_ , blended with the feelings of being buried alive and...and...

He shuddered, the dates and times running through his head.  _Nagare_...

Slowly, he began to crawl forward, the voices still pestering him of the things he wouldn't be allowed to forget. He missed Misaki's arms around him so much in that moment.

It had all been too much, more than the first time, or so it seemed. Maybe it was because he was alone this time. His lungs protested from all the running, from the fumes of smoke and dirt, each breath a wheeze as he struggled to move. The initial trial had been both physical and mental, a maze of iron and mist, each dead end joined with a memory of his life, of a mistake or moment he’d taken for granted. How he’d made it out of that one, he wasn’t sure.

If he thought the whispers were bad the first time, it was nothing compared to that maze, the noises deafening and inflicted twice as painfully, because they were extracted right from his memories, taking advantage of the things he now allowed himself to feel.

The second trial, after he’d wandered aimlessly from the first, made him fucking _swim_. He had to swim through what appeared to be a never-ending sea, a sword by his side (a pity gift from Munakata once more), facing creatures which made the graveyard beast look tame. But honestly, it wasn’t the most grueling part, no, moving… _swimming_ was hardest. Saruhiko had learned to perform the task some time ago, but he was never proficient at it, more like a child with his weak strokes and poor breathing. Water invaded his lungs more times than he could count during the challenge, the release of death never coming, because he was already lost in the afterlife. When he dared to breach the surface of the water for air, he was dragged back down by the beasts, his respite never fulfilling. It was like that, all the way until he reached the entrance to Nagare’s caves.

He was exhausted.

Maybe if he just sat still for a while, if he could rest for but a second...

He lurched himself forward, muffling his shout as his body protested, the dried blood making the movements stiffer.

_No, don't you dare stop._

He bit his lip something fierce, willing himself forward at a snail’s pace, but moving regardless.  _Don't stop._

That was the trap, wasn't it? He understood it now, why so many had fallen right before reaching the end. It took its toll on the individual, with no one there to motivate them, at least...no one in their right mind. How on earth had he and Misaki managed it? Making it so far, keeping sane while doing it? Having enough energy to walk upright? His mind spun with visions of mockery and whispers which he couldn't distinguish from his imagination or reality, flashes of memories and the surges of doubt which had finally come back to deplete his strength.

Right at the end. Right where it counted most.

_Keep going. Don't think about useless things._

Though it was hard not to, wasn't it? A perfectly practical reaction. If he failed here...to do it again a third time...it was unthinkable. Yet, he'd probably do it. He'd been such a fool, taking up the challenge knowing what it entailed, but he didn't find himself regretting it. Though, it was obvious everyone else had done the pitiful thinking for him this time...

Totsuka's face had been solemn, but not surprised. Saruhiko had been greeted amicably, but he didn't have any questions for the other man this time around. He knew what to do, what he needed to do. Totsuka had led him silently, with purpose, and the last thing he'd given Saruhiko was a cryptic smile and a nod of respect, bright eyes sad with something Saruhiko couldn't pinpoint. And then once again, he was gone, and his air of solidarity which Saruhiko didn't know what to do with was the only thing left of him.

Time slipped away after that. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been going, just that it might as well have been eternity.

By the time the caves had opened up to him, after ages of traveling and strife, he hadn't bothered going to see Douhan. He figured there was no point, seeing her green eyes light up in either surprise or skepticism. Perhaps part of him wanted to keep his endeavor private, the guilt of failure sitting heavy on his shoulders. But it hadn't mattered, she'd been waiting for him instead, seated upon a rock with a familiar bird.

No words were spoken, but he more or less appreciated it when she reached up into her hair and untangled her bow, which he finally noted was made of a gray and golden fleece, expensive...

She tied it around his hand, which had a nasty looking gash across it, and made sure it held. Then, a curt bow, and he was being led away, watching her disappear as he followed the soft beat of wings.

It only took him a few moments of remembering her fond stare as she tended to the wound, to realize it was her significant item. And she'd given it away, so easily.

In his head, he made a note to return it to her, sometime far in the future.

By then his mind was fragile enough, the beatings he'd taken were excruciating, and yet he took no relief in knowing the most physical trials were over. There were worse things. And well, when it had finally come to Nagare once more, the theory had proved true.

Nagare's eyes had reflected displeasure along with conflict, but this time, he hadn't been alone.

_"Dang, you sure are stupid huh?" The child's pale, messy hair obscured his eyes, unhindered by the two white clips fastened to the side of it. His light green eyes reflected confusion and annoyance, his skin and posture the very essence of youthfulness as he criticized Saruhiko. "Doing this again, you're making it harder for--"_

_"Gojo, thank you for your help, but I don't think words will have much effect on Fushimi-san at this point," Nagare interrupted fondly, and the boy blinked at him in confusion. "I'm sorry, but would you excuse us? You should calm Yukari down anyways, wherever he is."_

_The respect and patience Nagare gave the other was mildly astonishing, but by then, Saruhiko was too weak for such observations, who these other people were...he wasn't even upset with the boy's childish quips._

_If he lost sight of what he wanted now, even for a moment, it would come crumbling down again. Nagare seemed to realize it too, and while the other boy in the room was disgruntled at not getting an answer out of Saruhiko, he did as asked, and left them, mild worry etched on his face._

_The air plummeted quickly after, and Nagare wasted no time in breaching the icy divide. He knew this was Saruhiko's toughest challenge, facing change, risking it. But he had to, **had** to. Except this time..._

Now he--

Saruhiko coughed, bloodied spit mixing into the sand as he fought off a sob at the memory. And yet, he continued to crawl as it played, because he had no choice. He wouldn't forget, no matter how badly he wanted to. It was his test.

_He didn't miss the uncharacteristic pity laced in Nagare's eyes, as if he was actually fucking apologetic for what he was about to do. But it was there and gone in a second, and it was back to business._

_"Fushimi, you know I can't give you the same question again, you already know the test behind it," Nagare had sighed, shoulders slumping. Saruhiko blinked, nothing more. Tired, so tired. He hadn't expected less anyhow. Of course Nagare's usual test was now futile to him, with his arrogant need to attempt the journey again. Ha, arrogant. Surely though, they had to know it was desperation more than anything else._

_"I've been waiting for you, thinking about it, discussing it with my companions, trying to figure out the best way," Nagare explained uselessly, and Saruhiko picked up nothing he cared for in the words. "And--"_

_"Just do what you have to do." Saruhiko didn't recognize his own voice, it was dull and hoarse, and the tone of impatience was enough to make Nagare frown, face relaxing in reluctant acceptance._

_Saruhiko wasn't ready for what would surely be the hardest thing he had to face, since Nagare's trial had proven to be the most difficult in the past, but there was no use putting it on hold._

_He needed to do this. Everyone was waiting for him. He wouldn't disappoint again._

_Nagare sighed, scanning over Saruhiko's dejected form, before he nodded._

_"Very well."_

Saruhiko had moved a good distance, on his hands and knees alone, but his muscles were starting to give again. It was only a matter of time before he was forced on his stomach, and yet such fast approaching matters weren't on his mind. Instead they were like a mantra, the dates.

_June 13th._

_October 4th._

_January 2nd._

The years, he refused to acknowledge any of them, even the favorable ones. All the while Nagare's voice was mixed in.

_"Your test will be fitting to you, and I'm afraid it’s not a trick. What you are about to know and see is the truth," Nagare went on, sliding up to Saruhiko until the other could see flashes of green sparking around them._

_Saruhiko felt his stomach drop at the words, but he wasn't given time to ask his questions before it began. He shook his head, and it was like he'd been transported somewhere else, a nightmare really, and he knew a lot about those. The visions assaulted him full force, some bittersweet or kind, others entirely unfair. He wished he'd seen none of it, but something wouldn't let him look away. It hurt more than the fractures and cuts, more than failure._

_Excusing Nagare for this would be close to impossible._

_He didn't have to ask what the visions were of, he knew, the tears which had finally been expelled from his eyes showed that he knew, but Nagare decided to inform him anyways, as if things weren't clear enough._

_"These are the deaths of those you hold dear, along with when they will occur and the circumstances. It is possible they might change their own outcomes in some way, but these are almost as good as final. Do forgive me," Nagare said, voice remaining level. "Your test is carrying them with you, knowing when and how they happen. You are not allowed to stop them, or to warn your loved ones in any way. Should you do so, I will make it so you are brought back immediately._

_Saruhiko was hyperventilating, the sounds and voices, the emotions the scenes evoked...it was all too much._

_He knew now, how Seri...the guys..._

_He was stuck with the knowledge forever, unable to use it, and suddenly he regretted it so much more, failing Nagare's test the first time around._

_"Do I make myself clear?"_

_It took what was probably equivalent to hours for Saruhiko to pick himself up from that well enough for him to process the words, the implications. To back down here....was out of the question. It didn't change his desire to throw up._

_The trial, more like the punishment, might as well have been the straw that broke the camel's back for him, but he had to keep going regardless._

_If he wanted to see them, to make the most of the time he had left..._

_Saruhiko would endure it for all of time, until each date of death passed, and he saw them all again in the afterlife. After all, there was always another way right? He'd yet to succeed with it sure, but knowing there truly was no such thing as goodbye..._

_Saruhiko dry heaved weakly one last time, straightening his back to finally meet Nagare's stern gaze._

_No such thing..._

_"Crystal."_

The gate was there, just ahead. Or at least, a huge block shaped blur was. So close, but too far away. He pushed himself more, the dates jolting his brain along with each lurch forward, the pain from his body blending with the pain in his heart, the longing, and he felt the last of his hope begin to dwindle.

His plan was crumbling, his resolve along with it, just as he'd predicted.

_No_.

In a fit of anguish, he put weight back on the heels of his feet, yelling at the pressure, and kicked forward, towards the mass in the distance.

Don't fall asleep, don't stop.

His mind was a battleground as always though, and with each encouragement came an equal sized surge of doubt.

_You can't do this. You'll have to try again. You can barely move, stop being unreasonable. This is useless. Why did you think you could do this?_

Why had he?

Because he wanted to be with his friends, with his Misaki, at home, in his bed, staying up too late on his laptop and drinking cheap coffee. He wanted all of it, still did.

Though, perhaps it wasn't going to be enough this time either.

After everything, it was going to fall apart...

Disappointment...guilt...

He raised his fist weakly, slamming it into the sand.

But the gate was right  _there_ , almost directly in front of him, or was he imagining things?

If he could just _reach_...

_Try harder. You have to._ But how much more? What else did he have left to give? His palms scratched against the floor, finding no purchase in the flimsy sand as they struggled to pull his whole weight forward. The strength to crawl was nearly gone, the last option he'd had after his legs had caved from all the running and beatings, slipping away. He could do nothing about it, as close as he was. And again, he found himself hoping, because that's what Misaki had taught him to do. Hope.

Almost. Always almost. Almost there.

The wind shrieked around him, his vision blanking out rapidly from the force of it, until the marble gate was more and more of a blur. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was getting farther and farther away, evading him for eternity. Maybe that would be his true hell, so close to what he wanted, but never reaching it. It would be fitting, wouldn't it? No Misaki, none of the life he'd come to desire, just the loneliness of the Return, the journey he could not complete, neither the first nor the second time around.

So why was he still trying to move? Why put himself through it? How did he even know that the end of this, should he make it, would be what he expected?

Misaki's voice answered the question for him, all the way back from the beginning.

_"You don't, but, wouldn't you give anything just to see?"_

_Ah, right._

At the time, he'd found the response, childish, stupid even, blind as he was. Now though, it pushed him forward, and gave him the solution to every question his mind dared to pose in opposition.

Why put himself through this? Simple, he had nothing more to lose, and everything to gain. For instance, his home, despite it being nothing more than a poorly decorated apartment; it didn't matter if it looked empty, because it seldom was. It was usually filled with voices, Seri and the guys, not mourning or crying, but laughing and getting too worked up over board games and movies. Then there was Seri herself, with her over the top wedding planning and support of his endeavors. He had the accomplishment he felt upon completing a difficult project at work, and really, he had his general state of  _existence_ , one he'd never thought he could miss. And lastly was Misaki, not alone, but with Saruhiko by his side, being held and kissed by the redhead and seeing the warmth in his eyes...

That's what Saruhiko had to gain, those moments and so many others. So he'd do it, this journey, again and again. Three times or twenty, until he either completely lost his mind or finally stained the marble with his blood soaked palm.

All he had to do was touch the surface...

He reached out, ignoring how distant the barrier appeared. He didn't want to trust his eyes anymore, they hardly worked anyhow, after all the strain. Saruhiko's body trembled violently from the extra movement, elbows giving out completely and leaving him lying in the dirt, hand extended pathetically. It was probably over, his muscles had ceased to listen, weighed down with exhaustion and injury, and his mind wasn't far behind. Even his hand, so determined to make contact, was gnarled from the previous trial.

But still he reached, felt his joints protest, and then reached farther. One of the last things his eyes were able to process was the shining white blur of the gate, and he wondered how close it truly was. His fingers slid against something sleek, maybe a flurry of sand which had been swirled up by the strong gusts of wind, and his hand finally dropped. It was useless, bruised and twitching in front of him. He had nothing left in him.

Saruhiko had failed. Again. Two rounds of trials, of self-doubt and fear, and for what? He'd fallen short once more. The longer he was here, the longer everyone he knew grieved and coped without him. The longer he missed their presence.

To think he'd come to have no issue admitting it, after so many years of denying it at every turn. Yet even with that driving him, it hadn't been enough.

Well, he would just have to try harder the next time, wouldn't he?

When the time came, he'd make sure. He'd be enough, for once.

His body didn't have the strength to sob, but the wind would've drowned it out anyways, howling as dirt whipped at his skin. Saruhiko's eyes were finally failing him, and the final thing he saw was a flash of darkness, and a brief slit of light, before it was all lost, his last thoughts never reaching his lips.

_I'm sorry, Misaki._

_I'm sorry, everyone._

Then there was silence.

.

.

.

.

_"Fushimi Saruhiko. Age twenty, born on November 7th."_

 

A voice, one he couldn't understand.

 

_"Returned on the evening of August 14th."_

 

And then, there was nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated <3 Again, here's the 8tracks playlist for the fic if you're interested! [ Playlist ](https://8tracks.com/xladysaya/shaking-in-my-skull)  
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole  
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole


	10. Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't even believe this is the last chapter. I started this fic 8 months ago, started planning even before that, and this fic means so much to me I just can't believe. The first scene of this chapter is one of the three scenes which started the whole fic, so it's extra unreal lol. Thanks to everyone here reading, enjoy! Big thanks to EmeraldWaves for beta-ing this story from the beginning, and letting me brainstorm ideas and complain about it with her lol!

.

.

.

.

"Fushimi? Fushimi!"

Saruhiko's eyes snapped open, his breath catching as the smell of city exhaust and fast food assaulted his nostrils. His senses felt overstimulated, the blurs of images and color, coupled with the warm climate making him sweat was enough to leave him not moving and speechless.  _Where_...

But he didn't have to ask, not when his heart was constricting furiously in his chest at the sound of a very familiar voice, his mind reeling from the city bustle which he'd once been so accustomed to. There were cars stuck in traffic on his left hand side, the occasional horn and screech of tires jolting him further out of his stupor.

Saruhiko had no explanation for any of it. It wasn't a dream. It felt too genuine, but maybe it was a hallucination from his trial worn mind, maybe it was another trial entirely, his memories turned against him. It would be cruel sure, but not unexpected, he'd faced worse as a matter of fact. So of course, this was another attempt to remind him of the ever present distance between himself and his life. It had to be.

And yet...

He choked on his own emotions as they blended into his logic. Part of him had to know, had to be able to tell. Each reasoning felt cheap and poor, and he wanted to cry, as unnecessary as it sounded. The hope residing inside him was bubbling up fiercely as he breathed in, his body catching up along with him despite his attempts at denying.

Despite it, Saruhiko felt light, his muscles relaxing in a way that was nearly unfamiliar to him. After so much effort and pain, how could he cope with feeling so brand new all of a sudden?

His hands twitched, and he glanced at them in awe; the skin was uncut and clean, from what he could tell at least, which wasn't much due to his strangely hazy vision. There were no notable scars or detectable shaking, but there was a bow tied neatly around one palm. His pulse raced as he felt the fleece, as if not believing it was there. But it was a fact, wrapped securely over nonexistent wounds. His heart wanted to explode, but the lack of clarity still had him slightly anxious. It reminded him of the hazy image of hell's gate disappearing, alluding him, and he thought maybe this was all a fabrication after all.

It would be the last time he considered such a thing.

Saruhiko could make out his surroundings, but they were blurred, the edges of the cars and the sidewalk too soft, along with the outline of the person in front of him. A  _person_ , he told himself, because judging from the sudden scratchiness in his throat as realization closed in, he couldn't handle hoping for the best. But he  _knew_ that voice,  _knew_ those blonde curls, hazy or not.

But it couldn't be, this couldn't be real...

The burn in his eyes increased.

_I failed right? So why..._

He recalled the feeling of something slick against his bloody hand, and his breath hitched.

The breeze hit his skin lightly, and he felt something jostle atop his head, and any remaining doubts froze in his mind, permanently destroyed by one voice ringing in his head, for the very last time.

_"Well done, Fushimi-kun."_

It was there and gone in an instant, but Saruhiko would never let himself forget it.

"Fushimi? Are you even listening to me?" The woman in front of him asked again, and Saruhiko's walls crumbled down. Not waiting a second longer, he slowly reached up, pulling his glasses down to cover his eyes, and watched the world bloom into clarity.

Seri looked annoyed with him, that was for sure, going by her slight pout and narrowed eyes, which did nothing to take away from her overall intimidation. She was as she should've been, rested, well dressed, not a tear or flash of dread in sight. It was how he wanted to remember her, and how he'd hoped for her to remain. There, in front of him, where he now had the courage to reach out. But he stayed frozen, overcome.

She crossed her arms, seeming none too pleased that she was being made to wait for an answer, and Saruhiko would take that any day over her mournful cries.

"Well?" She asked once more, juggling her work bag awkwardly against her shoulder as he continued to stare, too much in shock to do much of anything. So of course, his next words weren't the most refined.

"Um...what?"

Wrong thing to say, apparently.

She all but dropped her bag, which was a big deal, since it was rather new and pricey from what he recalled, and began giving him a surprisingly welcomed piece of her mind.

"I knew it! You weren't listening," she said, barely holding in a groan from the sound of it. He would've apologized, really he would've, considering how much he'd missed her and how he now knew she didn't deserve half the shit he gave her. But well, he had no idea what was going on, or where they'd been going, or what day it even--

"Honestly," she said, softer this time. "I told you this was important. Fu-- _Saruhiko_ , I know you think the rehearsal is a waste of time, but I'd really appreciate it if you weren't late alright? It's tomorrow at six, so  _please_ , no more complaining okay?"

Oxygen all but left Saruhiko’s body.

Rehearsal. The wedding rehearsal. There was no way…

But well, was there truly any more reason to doubt?

“Seri,” he said, cutting her off sharply, and smarter men would’ve been afraid of the expression she gave in return. Well, or men who hadn’t just supposedly traveled to hell and back. Twice. “What…day is it?”

At the simple question, she seemed caught off guard. It was rather unlike him to forget details like that, especially when his work consisted of dating forms and remembering appointments, but she answered none the less, giving him the final push. “August 14th. Saruhiko…are you feeling alright?”

An understatement, if he’d ever heard one. His limbs finally relaxed, and it took everything for him to not fall to the floor pathetically, to not make a scene right there. He couldn’t comprehend half the emotions running through him, but for once, none were of the purely negative sort.

The one thing he _was_ able to acknowledge was that he was back. Alive. Home.

_I made it._

It didn’t feel nearly as unbelievable as before. Slowly, he brought a hand up to cover his mouth, whether to cover the unguarded expression from being shown to the world, or to simply ground himself. It wasn’t important.

Seri was looking at him still, though the annoyance was replaced with a mildly concerned incertitude, waiting for his answer, the bright blue of her eyes holding the same question as before.

Was he alight?

_Yeah_ , he thought, allowing himself a laugh as he stepped forward _, never better._

Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled her into him, crushing her against him with the weight of longing he’d built up over ages. He heard her purse hit the floor from the shock of it, and he squeezed tighter, willing himself not to buckle from the repeating mantra in his head.

_You’re back._

_You’re back._

She yelped against him, her arms staying tense at her sides, unsure of what was going on. Of course. Saruhiko didn’t give hugs, certainly didn’t reciprocate when others initiated them. It was extremely out of character, and the analysis merely made him cling tighter.

His body quaked a bit as he buried his face into her shoulder, the exhaustion and strife flooding out of him in immense waves, leaving him raw and vulnerable in the best way. People were whispering around them, and yeah, maybe he should’ve waited until they weren’t in the middle of the sidewalk, but honestly, he didn’t care.

Hesitantly, Seri’s hands came up to clutch at his sides, taking another moment to test the waters before she gave in completely, pulling him in without question in the usual strong show of support. Even when she didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know why he was upset, she returned the embrace full force, like the pillar she was.

To think, he once believed he could never need this, could never miss this. Such a coward he’d been. Even now after everything, the urge to push it all away was there, weak in his stomach. The part of him which believed nothing was permanent, everything could be taken away.

But well, he could put that part of him to bed at least for today, because it had lost.

They were all here, he’d kept them waiting, and they would never know. Seri. The guys. Misaki.

_Misaki._

His thoughts were in a frenzy as he pulled away, dodging Seri’s concerned hand as it quickly came up to check his temperature. He had no clue where to start, what he was doing, but he let desire pull him for once. Best to start with the people closest to his location. “Where…where are the guys?”

Seri’s voice croaked as she collected herself from the tight hug, picking up her bag hastily as Saruhiko began to read the street signs frantically. “T-the office? B-but—what, Saruhiko…you just—who—”

“Let’s go then, before they clock out,” Saruhiko said sternly, already turning them in the direction of his workplace, when she yanked him back by the arm.

She was afraid for him, he could see it. Having him act crazed, affectionate, it was cause for concern, but she didn’t have to worry. He was fine, better than fine, and it was a miracle he was this coherent, after what he’d just finished accomplishing. She couldn’t have known that though, maybe she would never know, if he decided whether or not to tell her one day. All she understood was something was amiss, and she wanted to help fix it. Somehow, the familiar show of care had him resisting another hug, the memory of her crying over his death a bit too strong in that moment. How had she ever been upset about him being gone? How had any of them? It was Saruhiko who needed them the most.

Slowly, he took a deep breath, fixing her with a calmer gaze, if only to calm her down.

It was unfair of him, to leave her in the dark, he knew it, but while he had all the time in the world now, he felt impatient, because that time would never be satisfactory anymore. Especially when…

_When I know the expiration dates._

But well, he would dwell on that another day.

“I forgot to tell them something, I just need to go fill them in,” he replied, less hurried, and her shoulders sagged in slight relief.

Yeah, like how they’re idiots, but they should never change.

Ugh, it sounded stupid even in his head. Maybe he wouldn’t put it that way.

She sighed at him, a million questions probably on her mind, but she took his bait in the end. “Okay, I understand, but we just left the office ten minutes ago, remember? We finished up early, and I told everyone they could head home before the evening rush. If we went back now, there’s no guarantee anyone will be there.” She squinted at him, gauging every reaction, and Saruhiko would’ve found the treatment beyond irritating, had it not been what he needed. Truthfully no, he didn’t remember any of that, but he was starting to.

_Right, we started to go home early, earlier than usual…she was wondering if I wanted to help set up for the rehearsal…_

The pieces of information gradually began to fit together, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what happened next.

Saruhiko clicked his tongue at the inconvenience of both her words and his memory, but Seri knew how to rectify his moods at least, supplying the right words and logic to placate him. “I wouldn’t worry. You’ll see them at the rehearsal tomorrow night, might as well just wait.”

Ah right, she had a point. While a day was a long time to wait, it offered up a solution to his problem, and plus…

Misaki would be there.

As if being pulled, Saruhiko turned in the direction of the Shizume Bridge, where he knew Misaki would be around this time. _He died right after me, around this time, so…_

If Saruhiko ran, he could probably make it, could intercept the other before the rehearsal, because there was no doubt he couldn’t hide their connection should Misaki see him in the crowded banquet hall. Plus, Misaki didn’t know Saruhiko was alive again, time had been rewritten sure, but all Misaki remembered was Saruhiko failing. Should they meet in public…

Well, the shock and emotion would probably be notable, even if Saruhiko was in control of himself by then.

_Annoying_.

Regardless, he couldn’t fight the fond smile on his face, the thought of seeing the redhead again too utterly pleasant to resist. Why he hadn’t already booked it towards the other, was because Seri was next to him, and parting from her even for a day wasn’t any simpler, not anymore. Speaking of Seri…

She was gaping at him now, a novel expression for her, and he quickly wiped the smile off his face. Damn, the sudden jump in his character would have to be fixed at some point, or at least more gradual.

“Saruhiko…are you sure you’re not sick? You probably need some sleep. Maybe you _shouldn’t_ come to the—”

“No. I’ll be there. I won’t be late.” Saruhiko made sure to look her in the eyes then, as if he could communicate all he’d learned in those simple statements. Seri just closed her mouth, nodding once, before the softest of smiles bloomed on her face, the trust palpable in the air between them. It was more than he could ask of her, right then. But… “I’m going to head home,” he said, adding a tongue click for good measure. “Maybe sleep isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but shooed him away regardless, satisfied with the exchange enough to not fret about him. Good. With purpose, he turned on his heel, stepping in the direction of the main street before he was being pulled back by her distressed voice once again.

“Wait! Don’t go that way!” He halted instantly, his reflexes a tad more sharpened now, and raised an eyebrow at her disappointed eyes. “Really? I told you earlier, there’s construction that way, it’s probably dangerous. There’s been a few accidents already.”

Saruhiko would’ve protested, in fact, he was about to. After all, he’d taken that way home many times. It was quicker, more efficient and less likely to waste his time, so naturally it should be worth the slight one in a million risk. He was about to tell her all of this, but he never got to.

Saruhiko felt his body jolt, the memory striking him full force as he froze mid-step on the sidewalk, the familiar smell of fresh pavement invading his senses as it all played back.

_“And remember, it’s at six! Don’t forget!”_

_Seri’s voice grated on his nerves as he made way for the cross walk. The end of the day hadn’t come soon enough, and the last thing he needed was the additional time slot on his calendar being occupied. She’d been reminding him constantly, how could he possibly forget? It was a rehearsal anyhow, why put so much importance on attending? It was pretty useless from his standpoint, he was sure everyone could figure out where they were sitting and what they had to do on the actual day of the wedding. Any extra preparation was severely cutting into his work time. It was a miracle they’d managed to finish early today, and even then, he had more than enough of everyone else’s slack to pick up with the work he was taking home._

_Pointless._

_Saruhiko clicked his tongue, barely sparing the blonde a glance when she scurried up to him, about to part ways to her own home, which was still in much need of unpacking. He supposed she’d need his help with that too. Great._

_“No promises,” he muttered, waiting for the light to signal for him to walk, and ignored the huff she gave in return. He could sense the desire in her to protest, maybe to try and wear him down with some heart felt statement about how much it would mean to her, or whatever it took for him to give her an indication of a futile promise. He wasn’t in the mood, and she should’ve known by then. She was lucky he was involved at all, he’d never seen a point to weddings in the first place, at least beyond the show type aspect of it._

_She remained silent however, surprising him, but the silence wasn’t unwelcome. But as he made for the turn to his usual shortcut, where he parted with her on most days, she called out to him. “Wait Fushimi! You shouldn’t go that way, there’s construction remember? There’s been some accidents already…”_

_Saruhiko scoffed at her, shrugging his backpack further onto his shoulder as he made no move to turn around. “It’s faster, I’ll be fine. I’m not walking all the way around anyways.”_

_“But—”_

_“See you tomorrow,” he said, not adding the ‘maybe’ which threatened to leave his mouth. He was irritated, maybe more than what was appropriate, but it had been a long week, and the stress of social occasions on top of it all wasn’t something he was used to. He just wanted to get home so he could start his reports, hopefully Enomoto wouldn’t be there tonight. Saruhiko didn’t trust himself to not snap at anyone right then._

_After another block, he’d left Seri behind completely, coming to the intersection which had cement trucks lining the shoulder. Two of the lanes were closed, the cars messily trying to merge together before reaching the broken stoplight, where a lone worker directed the traffic haphazardly. The sounds of horns honking and disgruntled shouts from car windows were abundant, but Saruhiko paid them no mind as he continued to walk._

_Soon, he reached the curb, noting how he was the sole pedestrian on that side of the street. It made sense, since most of the large loading trucks were moving in and out from his side, rendering the pedestrian traffic inconvenient at best, but Saruhiko didn’t care enough to move to the other side. The cement truck, whose driver seemed on the verge of a tantrum, could wait. The worker blew the whistle again, motioning for Saruhiko to walk hastily, and he stepped into the road, glaring at the ground as he strode forward._

_Apparently, the cement truck driver hadn’t been paying attention though, missing Saruhiko completely, and taking the whistle as his signal to step on the gas. Hard._

_Saruhiko barely got a last breath in._

_He felt his hands stiffen, his feet stumble as he fell back, crushed by the truck’s force. The nausea came after that, and so did the disassociation. Did he still have legs? He would have to, from the way his femurs snapped. He’d heard it, there was no way he couldn’t. The tremors traveled up, even his eyelids felt the tingles, the harsh stings of force._

_His skull shook, and one may have wondered if his brain had survived the hits it took against that fractured mass. The vibrations traveled further still, down his spine, cracking his ribs like twigs in a burning fire._

_All this inconceivable, unimaginable pain was felt in just a split second—there for but a moment before it was all gone. Nonexistent, as if it had never happened._

Then, there had been the silence. White walls. The sound of a shoes on a tile floor. Misaki.

Death.

Saruhiko jolted out of the memory, breathing accelerated as if he'd been in the moment again, and his legs froze out of fear, his proximity to the street a bit too unnerving at that moment. It was too much for him, not the reason behind his death, but the moments leading up to it as well.

Stupid. How stupid he'd been. It would've been so easy, so simple to avoid  _everything_. The last thing he'd said to Seri was more of a dismissal, and the only things in his heart had been contempt and displeasure with life as whole. So typical of him.

And what had it gotten him? A journey filled with horror, but also Misaki, and a massive reality check. All the trials and pain, the voices and doubt...

He'd gone through it all, had to push himself and push Misaki, had to depend on the other as well as feel completely alone. The yearning and hopelessness had felt never ending, and now it was over. He had returned, he was  _alive_.

How? How was he worthy of any of it after a death like that?

_It's too much._

His knees finally buckled after all his effort to keep steady, to act normal, he couldn't anymore. The weight of reality was finally crashing down, all he'd been through was finally standing out in his mind. He was having the moment, the _I can't believe I'm here_  moment.

Was this how Misaki had felt, after being told he was victorious.

God, it was like a high he never hoped would end, but also a painful remembrance. But really, how had he ever questioned coming back? How had he been so close to dismissing  _this_?

"Saruhiko!" Seri rushed to his side, catching some of his weight before he was able to collapse fully, shouldering him as best she could. She was always strong, but he'd never appreciated it more. He could hug her all over again in that moment, and suddenly he thought it might be worth it, to run back to the office and see who was there. "Ugh, that's it, there's no way I'm letting you go home by yourself." She looked around, eyeing the intersection ahead with skepticism. "Well, if you really think the shortcut is the fastest way, maybe we should--"

" _No_." His answer was quick, harsh enough to cut, and she startled notably at the tone until he started to backtrack. "I mean, there's no point, with both of us and the construction, it'll take the same amount of time." He sighed as irritably as he could, hoping the nerves and mixed relief didn't shine through. If he could help it, he would never walk that way again, and he sure as hell wouldn't let Seri either.

He thought of Misaki though, of him standing on the bridge alone, alive but without him, and felt the pang of guilt intensify within him. But with Seri being overprotective and his desire to collapse from exhaustion, there was no way he could go searching, no matter how badly he wanted to. Saruhiko had ventured to hell and back to see the redhead again, to kiss him again, and one day seemed far too long. But part of him knew he had no choice, he would have to wait, would have to let Misaki suffer alone for a handful of hours before he spent the rest of his life making it up to him. It was almost amusing, the thought of seeing the other the next night, for the first time in the living world. He guessed the rehearsal truly was where their story was meant to begin, had things not taken a wrong turn.

So be it.

He pulled Seri far away from the curb, not wanting to walk anywhere near the bustling evening traffic, and began the short journey to his apartment with content. Seri quirked an eyebrow in confusion, throwing up her free hand in surrender at his weird behavior. As she shook her head in disbelief, she balanced him better, but refused to let him pull away completely, like he'd surely fall over if she didn't keep some sort of connection to him. He didn't refuse. "Alright, we'll go the long way then."

"Mm, thanks."

She blanched once more at the easy display of appreciation from him, the sincerity of his tone, and he vaguely wondered how long it would be before she became used to it. Part of him also dreaded how the guys would react to it. Ugh.

Though, the annoyance he feigned was barely there at all anymore. He sighed, the familiar walk, one devoid of creatures and ghostly whispers, seeping into his mind, a memory he'd be sure to catalog for many years to come. _The walk home._

As they made their way, Seri huffed, shaking her head slightly. "You really must be sick. That's the last time I let Domyoji make the coffee in the morning, I thought it tasted strange, but you just kept drinking it so--"

Saruhiko snorted, letting her prattle on about their friend’s inability to brew decent coffee, vaguely remembering having no choice but to consume the foul liquid on many occasions. He'd let her believe it was only that, at least for now. He'd tell them all someday, before it was too late, about the challenges and beatings he'd endured, the nightmares...

But for now, he enjoyed the lightness of the conversation, and the warmth settling deep in his chest.

"Huh? What's so funny?" Seri looked up at him, hand tightening on his arm, and he thought  _yeah, this is more than enough for now._

He stared tiredly at her, the smallest of smiles on his face. "You're right. It must've been the coffee." 

\--

When Yata woke up on the morning of August 15th, it was as if he'd been pulled under water again, unable to breathe or comprehend anything going on around him, though he was alone in his simple apartment. It was less like how drowning had felt, and more like he had been submerged in a tank, watching as a flurry of memories, events which would now never come into existence, played before his eyes.

In fact, he'd been feeling this way since his return, since the previous evening when he had walked home, debating on the first course of action, while also juggling the grief still heavy in his heart.

Except, it had felt as if it hadn't been the first time he'd done so. Upon seeing the old paintings in his living room, he couldn't help but think, didn't I throw those out? And upon hesitating to dial his mother's phone number, he wondered why he could already feel the ghost of her arms around him, shushing him in comfort. 

The weight of longing and sadness when he thought of Saruhiko was there of course, but it felt extra painful, like it was a wound long healed which had been torn open again, left to bleed anew.

But why was that?

Yata raised his hand to his face, eyes squinting as the beginning trickles of sunlight bled into his room, and felt the dried tears on his face, the roughness of his skin. As gently as he could, like one wrong move could disrupt everything around him, he rolled over in his bed and stared at the date on his digital clock.

August 15th. Yeah, that was right, felt right...but also, seemed hugely inaccurate. Surely, it was the result of Yata's mournful state, his confusion, the trauma he was attempting to come to terms with. He'd yet to touch his paints, yet to eat or think about anything worthwhile really.

The fact that he'd officially beaten death, that he'd finally moved on to the next day of his life, was no doubt a shock he hadn't been ready for, and that's why he felt so unstable.

It would get easier...better, part of him knew it, as if he'd already experienced it, but at the end of it all, each new day would be without Saruhiko, and Yata wondered if he'd ever comfortably be able to accept that.

Timidly, he sat up, the bed suddenly a little too lonely, which was funny, since Saruhiko had only ever shared a dirtied surface with Yata for sleep. Regardless, Yata craved the warmth of another person next to him. He groaned as he stretched, feeling gross from the street wear he had slept in--he hadn't bothered to change--and the ghost of grime on his skin. He knew technically all the evidence from the journey had been erased from his flesh, save for the suspicious scar here and there, but he could sense the dirt under his now clean fingernails, the sweat and dried blood. It was all in his head yeah, but muscle memory was a powerful thing too. He kicked aside a box of art supplies, grimacing at the shades of blue which caught his eyes, and chose to slump down onto the floor. He wasn't ready to make the effort of picking out new clothes for the day, and it was better than the cold bed.

Come to think of it, did he have to get ready at all? The rehearsal should've been cancelled, the one which required the fancy suit which Yata had reluctantly hung up in his closet, and which was probably exactly as he'd left it. Of course, the rehearsal was only a set event if things went according to plan, plans involving no deaths in the bride's party...

At the thought of facing Saruhiko's grieving friends, or imagining how they must be feeling right then, Yata's stomach dipped, threatening to expel what little was inside it. He would need to learn to control that, or simply avoid any talk of funerals and wakes all together. Surely the pain was still fresh for those close to Saruhiko, and for Kusanagi, who was left with comforting his fiancé.

Yet, he'd gotten no text from Kusanagi the previous day about the tragedy, no alert about cancelling the rehearsal or being unavailable himself. In confusion, Yata pulled out his phone, watching it light up with two notifications. His breath hitched upon seeing Kusanagi's name, but as he read the text, the world around him seemed less and less secure.

**_Kusanagi_ ** _: Yata, I hope you're up already. Don't forget, you promised to come help the boys set up for the dinner today, see you around noon._

**_Kusanagi_ ** _: Also, bring your suit. I don't know if you'll have time to head home and change before the dinner starts._

Yata's first reaction after the distraught faded was to panic. What? The rehearsal was still happening? How?

His fingers scratched against the carpet, the frozen appendages barely getting feeling back as his thoughts reeled left and right. The possibilities he came up with were minimal, but none too pleasant. Perhaps no one knew about Saruhiko yet, maybe no one had been expecting to hear from him until the dinner.

When he doesn't show up...

Yata thought he might actually be sick, and he retreated to the bathroom for good measure, head suddenly pounding. The ceramic of the toilet felt too cold against his clammy hands, and it was just one of many sensations which were too much for him at the moment. The texture of the tile floor, the footsteps from the floor above him, the material of his clothes...

His brain was having too much trouble processing it in addition to the crushing realization that he would have to witness Saruhiko's family finding out about his death. That and the realization he too, would finally know how the other perished.

"Fuck..." Yata groaned, debating on whether he should just skip out, call in sick and deal with Kusanagi's wrath. It wasn't like it would last anyhow...soon the older man would have to deal with a postponed wedding, and a mourning fiancé. It would be easy...to avoid the pain for a second time around. After all, the last thing he wanted to hear was that Saruhiko was gone. He knew, but it didn't make the pangs of loneliness any weaker. Yata tended to be an empathetic guy, from what people told him, seeing so much grief over Saruhiko, who to everyone else, was a complete stranger to him, would be utterly impossible to bear.

Hesitantly, he pulled up his messaging app, reading to give Kusanagi some excuse about not being able to attend, but his fingers wouldn't type. Stupid...as if you could get away with this.

No one would understand, and he wasn't the type of person to lie to a friend, he wasn't sure he was capable of it. He had to go.  What kind of friend would he be if he didn't stand by Kusanagi in support when the evening fell to shit?

Acting oblivious would be difficult, but any tears he spilled could surely be blamed on atmosphere, on pity.

 

He scoffed at the word, hating it suddenly, because his cries would forever be of loss.

But well, maybe part of him kind of owed it to Saruhiko too, to offer whatever comfort he could to the taller's loved ones, since Saruhiko could not. With the grounding thought in mind, Yata straightened up and away from the toilet, letting the calm buzz of the bathroom lights fill the air as his breathing rate lowered, and his panic dissolved.

_Right, you have to go for Saruhiko. He won't be able to. You have to get it together dammit!_ Not just then, but for the sake of his life, for his future. Yata would live enough for the both of them.

With shaky movements, Yata stood up from the floor, shedding his t-shirt as he turned on the shower, letting steam seep into the small space. As he left to grab his suit from the closet and lay down new clothes onto his bed, his eyes caught sight of his old paintings, and the dull and superficial colors which had seemed to taunt him yesterday didn't look as bad.

Maybe he might try to sell them, gain some extra money and start new. The stuff he used to paint before weren't as appealing to him now, and he felt his hands itch for different themes, for stories of trials and love, and most of all himself. Of course, he'd throw in some blues here and there too.

Yata actually managed to crack a smile at that, excited for his slowly developing vision of the future, and reorganized the box of paints he had impulsively kicked earlier. _Much better._

Not everything was lost, he knew it. Today would be hard, about as hard as any of the trials of the afterlife, but he'd get to see and laugh with his friends for a little while, and things would improve as the weeks went by. More than anything, Yata resigned to see his mom, and apologize to her fully for his absence. Everything else would fall into place, and he could pace himself as much as he needed to.

He walked back towards the bathroom, his entrance into the steam almost refreshing as he looked towards better days. Though life without Saruhiko would never be one hundred percent, Yata would carry the other with him in all he did and created, and the hopeful thought was enough to give him the energy he needed. And while something in his gut told him something was still amiss, he ended up walking out of the shower with more purpose than ever before.

 

\--

His eyes never stopped searching for the thousand watt grin, for shining amber eyes, for the familiar brightness in the dark he had begun to crave. Or, that’s what he was used to, but maybe the world around him wasn’t so dark anymore.

Saruhiko turned away from the entrance of the room, which he’d been watching like a hawk, and let himself gaze at madness surrounding him. It was a good madness this time though. The reception hall was probably the least extravagant part of Seri’s wedding, but it was no less decorated, the lighting and fixtures catering to the color scheme perfectly. It felt empty as it was now, tables devoid of the off white table cloths and twinkling lights above, giving it the sought after fantasy look. Those things would be absent until the big day though, for now the large room held empty tables with cheap covers, the artificial light from above casting a bright glow as the bride and groom saw to inspecting it, laying out the seating cards and making sure the flower arrangements wouldn’t be too cluttered. Only the immediate family and friends of the two of them were present, barely fifteen people in total. It made the room look twice as barren, but oh well. When it was filled with guests and music, drenched in smells of cakes and food, Saruhiko was sure Seri would be pleased with it, though she constantly complained throughout the rehearsal that things weren’t right or weren’t properly placed. He didn’t get it himself, did all that really matter?

Saruhiko nearly had the nerve to ask, but Kusanagi, ever the stoplight to disaster, had elbowed him sharply, smile wide as he preached about the bride always being right in these cases. Whatever. It wasn’t like Saruhiko was going to argue, he was content enough as it was, just seeing the blonde and her fiancé fretting about, alive and well in their acts of scolding. Things had calmed down anyhow, the food for dinner being brought in and laid out, along with copious amounts of alcohol courtesy of Kusanagi’s bar. Apparently, Kusanagi’s party had showed up in the afternoon to set up, and were now beginning to wind down, but from where Saruhiko sat, there was no sign of Misaki. Initially, he’d been wandering about, paranoid that something had happened, convinced he’d never be allowed to see Misaki again in some cruel twist of fate, but he’d eventually been escorted to a place setting. It was his assigned seat, a spot at a large table, and it would’ve been an anxious wait, being forced to sit and stare at the _one_ way into the room, had it not been for—

“Fushimi-san! You’re not going to drink?” Enomoto happily held up his own glass and another, handing it to Fuse. Seven pairs of eyes were on him instantly, and he shrugged at the full table of his coworkers. It was only natural they’d all been seated together, and he found the proximity strangely comforting.

It had been refreshing all evening, his yearning for Misaki aside, amidst his party’s bickering and griping during set up. Saruhiko had almost forgotten what it was like, being influenced by each and every quirk and personality trait they had to offer. Hidaka complained about the lack of girls in Kusanagi’s party, as if the wedding would be his first step on a road to true love, and Domyoji was more concerned with the DJ and food, pulling out clippings of suggestions (as if Seri hadn’t booked a caterer months in advance). Kamo made sure his daughter wasn’t getting into things, happy as ever that it was his time with her that month, and Akiyama was lost in a conversation with Benzai, sitting a bit too close to not be a bit suspicious to Saruhiko. Though it was hard to ponder too much on it with Gotou talking his ear off for a good portion of the evening. Saruhiko had simply asked him about one of his collections, and the sudden interest in his hobby had lit a fuse of some sort. Saruhiko couldn’t mind too much. As for Enomoto and Fuse well…they were as affectionate as he remembered them, but less sickeningly so.

Saruhiko had initially taken care as to not seem so different around them, but with their smiles and loudness, as well as their need to throw him in the middle of their conversations, he had dropped the act hours ago. Besides, seeing their surprised reactions to his sudden ‘niceness’ was a gift in and of itself.

It didn’t mean he had changed completely though, and the sharp criticisms remained apparent in his speech whenever they got too rowdy. Saruhiko rolled his eyes at them, willing the attention away. “Unlike you all, I like to actually be in control of my actions,” he said, clicking his tongue as he eyed the champagne critically. “Besides, I’d hate to be the one of you who gets too drunk and ruins the dinner.”

Oh how Seri’s punishment would be steep.

“Hey! Why are you implying that it’ll be one of us?” Hidaka jumped in, his own glass sloshing messily, and Saruhiko snorted from the panic in his eyes. Fuse neglected to comment, sipping his drink in amusement while the rest of the table laughed, and Saruhiko bathed in the familiarity of it all. Hidaka’s expression was nothing short of petulant, but he was always quick to recover. “This is hardly a good atmosphere to get drunk anyways! After work tomorrow, you’re totally coming to a bar with us Fushimi-san!”

It was meant more as a distraction, since the invitation had been uttered from the mouths of his coworkers one too many times, and for the most part, they were used to his outright refusal. Even in the last few years, with his less standoffish nature, it would take copious amounts of begging to get him anywhere near a public outing with the lot of them. As for now though… “Sure. Let me know where,” he replied, tone bored as his eyes scanned the crowd, back to their earlier task of locating a particular redhead.

He didn’t bother looking at their gaping expressions, but he felt them, the disbelieving eyes boring into his back irritatingly. _Three, two, one…_

Rather than a direct verbal assault though, they tag teamed, with Hidaka fearlessly grabbing Saruhiko’s face and jerking it towards him, stupidly inspecting his features while Gotou poked him. In the meantime, Fuse saw his opening at last, the bastard, and promptly let loose his skepticism. “Are you sure you’re Fushimi Saruhiko? You haven’t been replaced with some android, trying to gain our favor in order to steal government secrets?”

“Yeah, you didn’t even threaten to kill me when I spilled coffee on you earlier!” Domyoji jumped in, raising an accusing finger. “You’re an imposter!”

Wrenching away from Hidaka’s grip (who finally had the nerve to look a bit abashed about it), Saruhiko fixed them with a glare, mostly annoyed from being distracted from his watch, but there wasn’t as much animosity as usual, and the idiots began to use it as more concrete evidence as to why he had been replaced (possibly by aliens now).

“I’m surprised you all managed to figure it out, you got me,” he deadpanned, and it fed into the madness.

“He has jokes now!” Domyoji’s shout garnered more than a few stares, and Seri directed a fierce glare at them, the typical ‘I love you but shut up’ traveling across the hall. The ginger had enough sense to quiet down, as much as he could at least, but he was soon smirking again, nudging Akiyama in the side as he spoke. “Pft, I bet Fushimi-san would even let me hug him now, huh?” He snorted at the thought, the rest of the table raising their eyebrows at just the suggestion, joke or not.

However, it gave Saruhiko just what he needed to shut them up. A dangerous smirk made its way onto his face, and the atmosphere at the table might as well have plunged in temperature. Not his fault, they were the ones testing his patience. Blinking slowly, he fixed Domyoji with his challenging expression, enjoying how the older boy notably gulped. “As a matter of fact, I would. Why don’t you try it?”

Benzai paled, Enomoto choked, and the rest of them didn’t seem to know what to make of the situation. Domyoji straightened in his seat, innocent eyes widening as he took in the words. “W-wait…really? You’re not joking?”

“Nope.”

It was easy to see the cogs turning in Domyoji’s head, trying to discern if it was a bluff or not, and really, Saruhiko hardly knew either. Though he was never much for physical contact of any sort, something about traveling to hell twice just to sit at this table full of losers made him a bit more willing.

Domyoji squinted at him, but rose from his seat anyways, inching little by little towards Saruhiko. The rest of the table held their breaths. “O-okay…imma do it…last chance to back out ha…”

“I’m waiting,” Saruhiko said, eyes never leaving the quivering form of Domyoji. Enomoto was biting his nails.

“Y-yeah, prep-prepare to be hugged!”

“Joy.”

Domyoji was about a foot away now, and it had taken him a good two minutes to cross the initial five foot distance from around the table, and Saruhiko could feel the warmth and tension radiating off him now. He inched forward again, the sleeve of his jacket just touching Saruhiko’s shoulder…

“Oh god, never mind!” Domyoji shouted suddenly, flying back into his seat at lightning speed, clutching Akiyama’s arm. “Hell no! It’s like walking into a venus fly trap!”

Saruhiko smirked triumphantly as his friends exhaled, laughing at the ginger’s expense, and soon the topic of his sudden personality change was lost to comforting Domyoji, and trying to not attract more attention. He considered it a success.

\--

The reception hall had filled considerably in the next half hour, the remaining relatives and college peers flooding in to take their seats.

Still no Misaki. Saruhiko had begun to shred napkins in his lap, glaring at the childishness of it as he reached for yet another. The emotion bubbling up inside him was fierce, upset at being caged, and he willed it down. He caught Enomoto staring at him a few times in concern, but Saruhiko prayed the other wouldn’t bring it up in front of everyone else.

The sound of clicking heels distracted him from worrying, if only for a moment. Seri came bounding over in quick strides, and Saruhiko was pretty sure he hadn’t seen her sit down once since the evening began.

“Alright guys, food is out and almost everyone is seated,” Seri announced to them in a hushed whisper as she approached the table, hands smoothing over the front of her embroidered evening dress. “How do I look? I’m going to go meet Kusanagi’s side of the family now.”

Gotou’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked her over. A backless A-line dress, blue in color, with gold beading in the front, and high heels to match. Simple, but regal. “Wait…didn’t you meet them earlier during set up?”

She crossed her arms, the question deemed unacceptable from the simple movement. “I mean yes, I met some of the guys, but no formal introductions, certainly no family or college friends! Proper introductions are in order.” She said the last bit with a frazzled gesture to her person, and wordlessly, they all gave her the thumbs up, which was enough for her to tuck a stray piece of hair back with a pin, and train a smile to her face before walking back into the fray. Saruhiko did not envy her. However, she turned back around halfway, like she’d forgotten something, and grabbed a new glass of champagne quickly before returning to them.

Benzai was about to ask what was the issue, but he never got the chance.

“Thank you all for coming to this,” she started, voice notably softer, a tone saved for them, and she raised her glass. Her crystal blue eyes twinkled with something private as she scanned over each of their faces, and Saruhiko clenched his pile of shredded paper, remembering why he’d tried so hard to make it back to this life, one where he could hear such pointless words. Except, he couldn’t call them that anymore, huh? “I know planning this has been hectic, and it’s probably going to get worse with the wedding in a month, but…having your help, I couldn’t ask for better friends, my pillars of strength. Cheers to all of you.”

Calendar dates and years repeated themselves in his mind as he and everyone else raised a glass, but he paid no mind, knowing it was useless. What was meant to happen would, as much as it angered him, but the things he could control, like this, he’d gladly take advantage of.

Seri wiped her eyes, taking a fast gulp of her champagne before she was off, leaving them in a bubble of stunned silence amongst the chirps of laughter and greetings. Saruhiko’s hands went back to his half shredded napkin, but suddenly he had no energy for that either.

“And with that…it’s time for more alcohol,” Hidaka sniffed, standing with Domyoji and excusing them to the banquet spread. Kamo seemed less than pleased with the example they set, but it didn’t matter, because soon he was being dragged away by his daughter anyhow, eager to get first crack at the desserts being laid out. As for everyone else, they dispersed, Akiyama and Benzai disappearing to somewhere unknown, and Gotou left to greet some of Seri’s in laws, as was appropriate. It left Fuse and Enomoto with him, which he didn’t mind so much, except for the fact they obviously knew something was amiss with him, his head turning continuously towards the entrance, eyes scanning the crowds.

If they exchanged some sort of knowing look, Saruhiko wouldn’t know, but after a few minutes, Fuse was excusing himself none too subtly, touching Enomoto’s shoulder as he made for the banquet table. Great.

It wasn’t helpful that Enomoto sat almost directly in front of him from across the table, the eye contact, although shy, searing as Saruhiko avoided it. He was fairly sure Enomoto was angling himself now, trying to catch Saruhiko’s eye, periphery or otherwise, but upon finally realizing Saruhiko’s resistance, sighed in resignation.

Not ‘I guess I’ll give up’ resignation, no, the ‘guess I’ll talk to him anyways’ resignation. Ugh.

“Fushimi-san…you seem distracted,” Enomoto commented, like it wasn’t obvious to them both. Saruhiko appreciated his attempt to not seem nosy though.  “Are you looking for someone?”

_Someone_. _Hm_.

To him, Misaki was more than a someone, he was everything. It was as scary as it was pathetic, but it shouldn’t be a surprise. They’d gone through alot together, Saruhiko had done so much to just be able to see the redhead again, to start fresh and build _something_ together. The separation he’d been forced to endure, the pain and desperation, it made it so clear in his head. He wanted to be with Misaki, in whatever way the redhead would permit, though Saruhiko’s selfish desires clouded up the vision quite a bit. Now, the distance between them, which was now minimal, barely there at all, felt agonizing. So yes, he was looking for someone, the one who should’ve been there from the start. There was no use denying part of that, he guessed.

“You could say that,” Saruhiko replied, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. He was watching Kusanagi’s main table, where a band of young men were seated, drinking and laughing away.  Saruhiko recognized them from the Return, from the vision Munakata had allowed them to see, but they were happy now. Only one thing was similar: Misaki was missing.

Enomoto beamed after recovering from the initial shock of actually getting an answer out of him, skipping a few seats over until he was almost in front of Saruhiko. “Who? Someone special?”

It was hard to fight the fondness welling up inside him from those words, because really, they were true. He couldn’t let that show though, Misaki was supposed to be a stranger. Saruhiko might be able to get away with calling him an acquaintance, someone he met outside of work by happenstance and who just so happened to be part of Kusanagi’s group. That was even a stretch, openly admitting any deeper involvement was ill advised. He kept it in mind, when choosing his words. “Someone who…doesn’t annoy me I guess.”

Enomoto actually had the nerve to snort at that, fixing him with an uncharacteristic smug smile, and Saruhiko knew the intent he’d tried to get across had failed the moment those olive eyes twinkled in delight. Oh well. Not like it mattered. If he kept all these idiots around, and he’d be sure to, they’d be finding out about Misaki sooner or later, and much to Saruhiko’s chagrin.

“Fushimi-san, that’s basically you for ‘someone I like’ you know?” Enomoto said, rising from his chair before Saruhiko could respond. Not like he’d actually had an answer to such a bold statement though. He guessed his friends really did know his quirks to the smallest detail. He could deal with that, he supposed.

Giving him one last wink over his shoulder, Enomoto sauntered off to his boyfriend, leaving Saruhiko alone at the table, waiting dutifully once again.

The group toasts, the ones which included the whole room were about to begin, the last of the late arrivals grabbing plates of food and taking their seats. Saruhiko could see Kusanagi checking on his own tables, while anyone who had been standing halted their conversations as they waited for the bride to take the mic. Saruhiko was going to tune out the speeches, not needing Seri’s rehearsed words, stress induced, to reach his ears. Besides, the last of his focus had quickly dwindled, eyes drooping in a sudden bout of disappointment. Funny, it was an emotion he had never let himself feel before, too worried about his attachments and the grief they could bring. Now, it overcame him in waves as the room quieted, missing the one voice he so craved and—

“Where’s Yata?”

Jerking his head up, Saruhiko sought the source of the voice, catching Kusanagi talking to another young man wearing glasses, the dark rim of his hat occasionally hiding his eyes. “Oh, I think he’s still in the back unloading the last of the alcohol. Awashima-san was worried we were running out,” the man said, and a brief spark of stress flashed across Kusanagi’s face.

“Damn, we’re about to start. I’ll—”

Saruhiko’s chair scratched against the floor from the force and speed with which he sat up, crossing the several feet to Kusanagi in record time, much to the two’s surprise. Saruhiko didn’t care. “I’ll go get him, things are starting soon Kusanagi-san,” Saruhiko said, looking over to where Seri was beginning to fiddle with the mic. “Awashima won’t appreciate the wait.”

“Ah,” Kusanagi said, a bit startled. “Thank you Fushimi…uh, he should be right out back, just call his name and—”

“Got it.” Saruhiko barely finished before he was turning around, stalking out of the main entrance and veering left, towards the building’s back exit.

The hallway was long, but the door was in plain sight, each footstep beginning to echo louder and louder as he approached. It was déjà vu, but not, seeing as how the first time he had been so nervous approaching a door, it meant terrors of unimaginable proportion were waiting for him. This time, all he’d encounter was a warm embrace, soft skin, a voice which Saruhiko had used to motivate him through fire and dangers of all kinds.

This was it. After all this time…

Who knew how long it had actually been, years maybe, with how long his second journey had felt. He wondered what Misaki had done in that span, before time had been rewritten. All because of Saruhiko, and his stubbornness. He almost felt guilty, stealing away all of the progress Misaki must’ve managed in that time, but the selfishness in his heart was too strong, the relief he felt greater than everything else.

_"Saruhiko! Did you hear that? You'll see your friends, it'll all be the same!”_

In the end, Misaki had been right. They were picking up right where they left off, and then some. Saruhiko shouldn’t have doubted him, Misaki and his strange, but unyielding faith in the both of them. Surely, Saruhiko would have to pay that back, and he would, in whatever way Misaki wanted. Saruhiko would never be perfect, still shouldered a lot of the same issues as before, but he was willing to try now, and he could only hope Misaki would appreciate it.

_Heh, gods know I appreciate him._

And Saruhiko couldn’t help but wonder if they, those beings who had been rooting for him from their gaudy thrones, were watching this moment too, holding their breath as Saruhiko was, heart beats stalling as he pushed the door open…

The cold night air hit him, the alley darker than the nearby street due to its lack of light, illuminated by a lone lamppost as a figure unloaded one last box off the back of a car. Saruhiko froze, the agony of separation and too much effort falling away in an instant when he caught a glimpse of fiery hair and toned arms.

Misaki had his back to him, the occasional curse being muttered as he cut open the last box with a knife, his back muscles flexing from carrying the heavy load and stacking it on top of the others. His suit jacket was lying haphazardly on one of the boxes, his shirt sleeves rolled up and somewhat stained with dirt. The pants he wore needed to be hemmed, from what Saruhiko could tell, and had he not been so taken by the image before him, he might’ve commented.

It wasn’t the time though.

Misaki rested his hands on his hips, looking over his work with a heavy sigh, like he’d never done a harder task. Saruhiko smiled softly, and he thought he saw Misaki laugh, like they’d unknowingly shared the same thought. Misaki had done much harder feats of labor, they both had. Complaining about anything else was ridiculous at that point.

It was the reminder of those shared challenges, the connection between them, and the memory of Misaki’s bone crushing hug as the redhead left him in hell, that had Saruhiko’s fingers slipping from the door, letting it slam shut, tearing through the silence.

Misaki jumped, amber eyes shooting to meet his blue ones, and the revelation was instantaneous. The echo of the door slamming filled the silence, as if the noise was having trouble traveling through the thickness of it. Saruhiko swallowed, because seeing Misaki’s _eyes_ , so vibrant, so alive…it was more than he could handle.

It all seemed to stand still, and Saruhiko wondered if seconds even passed while he watched Misaki’s lip tremble, and felt his own blood rush, his heart beat ringing in his ears. It would make sense, given what he knew, for time to be manipulated, for higher forces to give him this one moment, unaffected by time or whatever was happening in the dining room. After all the universe had taken, it indulged him in this, letting him feel the burst of love he felt for the person only twelve feet away.

It was the connection which had guided him to safety.

Saruhiko was on the ground before he could blink, if he’d even been able to, too taken with the image of Misaki in the flesh and blood before him. Misaki’s arms were around him, nuzzling his face into his neck as Saruhiko toppled back, catching himself right before his back hit the dirt. His jacket was probably ruined, he couldn’t care less. He pulled Misaki farther into his arms, legs squeezing against the redhead’s sides due to the force of the full body hug, warmth unlike anything Saruhiko had ever felt before flooding him.

Searing. Full of life.

“You’re here….” Saruhiko whispered, the feelings which had built up too much to hold back any longer.

Misaki pulled his face away from the taller’s neck, staring with wide, disbelieving eyes as he half cried, half laughed. “I’m here? You dumbass, what about you? What are...” Misaki trailed off as his gaze lowered to Saruhiko’s lips, and Saruhiko’s intentions weren’t far off. They met in the middle, kisses quick and desperate, drinking each other up like they could disappear again in the next minute. But something told him that they’d never let that happen again, they would find a way back to each other, because they were that idiotically stubborn, deep down. Misaki tasted like mint, a flavor which had been absent the first time they’d kissed. It was a small, embarrassing detail, but Saruhiko reveled in it. _Misaki’s taste._

Misaki held the last kiss for longer this time, though Saruhiko was hopeful there’d be many more in the future, and his eyes were on Saruhiko again, pupils blown wide and searching. Misaki let his body relax, legs repositioning to sit on either side of Saruhiko’s waist, and shook his head. “How is this…what…how are you here? Munakata said you…”

The words were lost to the noiseless air, too grave to be spoken again, like they were cursed. It was silly, to fear such a thing, but Saruhiko was still in shock if he was being honest, hadn’t fully recovered from returning to that moment on the street on an August evening. Life was so fragile, he was hyperaware of how he could lose it again, from the drive to the rehearsal to walking to work. Even for him, who had beaten the odds and returned, wasn’t guaranteed the next day. No one was.

But this, Misaki staring at him with confusion and unhidden fondness…he’d try to keep it as long as possible.

There was a lot to explain, where should he begin? Was it worth retelling those months of agony, the months spent lying around until the solution had come to him? Would Misaki want to know about each new trial? Would Saruhiko actually be able to tell him? There was so much to share, and yet he had no idea what was appropriate. Something told him the redhead would want to hear it all though, the journey which had brought him back.

Misaki leaned down at the same time Saruhiko pushed himself up farther, their foreheads bumping, like a silent and eternal pact between them. _I’m on your side._

_Yeah, sounds about right._

Saruhiko sighed, figuring he’d best start at the beginning, and opened his mouth. “I—”

The applause from the adjoining room reminded him of where they were though, what they were supposed to be, versus what they were. Somehow he didn’t mind the interruption, the reminder. Saruhiko stared at the door leading back to the reception hall, back to the world they now both shared, and Misaki laughed from his spot on top of him.

“Eh Saru, maybe you should save it,” Misaki said, smiling as he got up and offered Saruhiko his hand. “I think we’re late.”

Saruhiko managed to crack a smile at Misaki’s poorly concealed amusement, because yeah, time was a thing they actually had to worry about again, passing regularly and all too quickly, unaltered except for those truly worthy.

With a soft nod, Saruhiko grabbed his partner’s hand, the snug fit all too familiar and infinitely perfect, and followed him into the building.

\--

Yata shut off the television, staring with displeasure at the blank screen. “Well, that was shit.” He dropped the remote in defeat, plopping onto his side on the soft couch, one which he never got tired of sinking into. After so many years of his shitty, torn up couch which could barely hold Saruhiko and him at the same time, the new plush couch had been an amazing addition. Of course, they'd had to wait a year or so before they'd gotten it, since they needed a bigger apartment to fit the furniture, but it had been worth the wait.

_Yeah..._

Lots of things had been worth the wait.

Yata smiled as he looked out across the ample sized living room, which was nearly as big as his old apartment in total size, and basked in the afternoon glow seeping in through the windows. They'd been living there for a few short months, but Yata had gladly associated it with feelings of comfort, as a refuge. Home. Sometimes the fridge buzzed too loud and the lights flickered, the sink would routinely clog and they needed to replace some of the tile in the kitchen...but mostly, he couldn't ask for better.

The sound of typing reached his ears from the table, along with a disinterested hum as the owner of the device addressed Yata. "I told you it looked awful, you shouldn't have wasted your time."

Yata watched as Saruhiko stretched in his lounge wear, looking like the perfect mix of annoyed and relaxed as he shut his laptop, scooting it away from him and jostling Yata's strewn about art supplies, all of which sat on the table. Yata usually yelled at him for not respecting his stuff, but he also knew Saruhiko had told him to get his crap off the table many times in the first place, so there was no use in arguing. The table was always a mess, and it would probably stay that way forever.

Yata's smile grew, the reminder of Saruhiko always being by his side too wonderful to ignore. He knew it like his own name now, but even after two years and all their time in the afterlife together, the thought of Saruhiko beside him made his stomach flip. It proved to be true in any case, especially when he'd wake up at night drenched in sweat, images of barren wastelands and tombs fresh in his mind, to find Saruhiko wide awake beside him, gripping his hand tight. Yata would do the same for the taller in return, when the talk of the future came up, when certain years and dates approached, and the light left Saruhiko’s eyes for brief moments.

They coped the best they could in those times, and Yata knew those things wouldn't ever go away, yet...he couldn't help but find himself incredibly happy.

Well, except when he was subjected to shitty movies.

"The effects looked cool! It was just...I totally knew everything that was gonna happen, and I wasn't expecting all the hell and heaven scenes..."

Saruhiko snorted, leaning back in his chair before scowling in distaste at his now dull soda. "You knew going in it was a story about angels and demons, you should know better than to watch those anymore," Saruhiko sighed. "They're pathetically unrealistic."

_Got that right_. It was a tired joke between them, movies about death and the afterlife, or any themes similar. Since having experienced the real thing, the appeal of such plots often fell short. While Saruhiko had given up trying to enjoy films about that stuff, Yata was more stubborn. He continuously searched, eager for an outlet for his own experience, but of course, found none. Saruhiko routinely reminded him that, as far as they knew, no one else had any idea what awaited them in the great beyond, or whatever. It remained annoying regardless, but lately he'd started to ponder a new option, and it grew more and more enticing with each day.

_Well, if we're the only ones who know..._

The idea poked harder at Yata’s brain, and well, when he actually was inspired it was hard to resist. Standing up with a huff, he walked over to the table, grabbing his tablet and inspecting it with a bit too much focus, like it would give him all the answers rather than him actually doing any work. If only it were so simple. "I should just make my own story, I've been getting better with my digital stuff, I could do a comic..."

Instinctively, his free hand joined Saruhiko's on the table, the touch as natural as breathing, and the taller hummed, raising a brow at him. "About?"

Yata smirked, trying not to laugh as the amusement between them grew. "Not sure, maybe these two people die and they have to go on some journey to be brought back to life. There's also this god who won't shut the fuck up. Oh and a parrot."

"There's a parrot?"

"There's a parrot."

Yata had to look away, determined to not cave first, and he was probably crushing the life out of his boyfriend's hand, but oh well.

Saruhiko stood up, coming up behind Yata and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. "Hm, sounds fake."

Yata bit his lip. "Yeah, totally lame. Imma scrap it."

"Would never happen."

"Two out of five stars."

"I would've given it one."

By the end of their exchange, Yata was dying, leaning on the table for support and trying his best not to drop his tablet. He made good money now, but last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of getting a new one of  _those_.

Yata leaned back into the touch, reveling in the simple feeling of Saruhiko's steady breaths against his skin, and wondered if he'd actually do it.

A story like theirs would take a lot of time, of planning. The details were important, the imagery. It would mean revisiting some painful memories, opening up to complete strangers about an experience he held near and dear to his heart, but at times wanted to push away with the strongest force. People would hate it, would criticize it, the events which changed his view of life. He knew that of course, as an artist. But this was different yeah?

He turned his head slightly, the impulse to catch Saruhiko's lips in a kiss too strong, and remembered it was different for both of them. The suffering they'd shared, the relief, it was all too much to wrap up easily and cast out into the world.

And then suddenly, the idea he'd been pondering for weeks seemed less and less appealing, all too complex and grand.

Yata didn't need other people to know about his strife to feel validated, he realized, not when Saruhiko was there, not when he woke up every morning, proving of his success.

"You still thinking about actually drawing it?" Saruhiko asked hours later while they were in bed, limbs entangled and eyelids droopy, and Yata smiled at him, more content than he'd ever been. All because of an accident, a journey, and the people in his life. It was a story so personal to him it hurt, and as Saruhiko smiled at Yata's soft shake of the head, Yata knew he felt the same. 

And he thought, well, maybe they could keep the story to themselves just a little bit longer.

\--

"Watching again Munakata?" Mikoto's gruff voice broke Munakata out of his pleasant observance, and the deity spun around quickly, as if caught. The water of the pool rippled into nothingness, disturbing the image of the two lovers until they were absent from view. Munakata huffed, not one to deny the allegations, but not particularly happy with how sneaky Mikoto had become. What happened to those barbaric, loud footsteps from before?

Munakata couldn't be severely displeased though, seeing as how the volume change was most likely due to Mikoto's desire to not attract attention when he returned from visiting Totsuka. The thought caused a calm smile to bloom on his face, the one which Mikoto usually dubbed as being creepy, but Munakata was hardly swayed by such insult.

_Things are right in the world, living and dead it seems._

"I was simply checking on how they were doing," Munakata said, the relief clear in Mikoto's shoulders when Munakata didn’t ask him of his previous whereabouts. As if he didn't already know. "I am...happy that they're doing so well."

"Been two years," Mikoto muttered, slumping in his seat with a noticeable displeasure in his aura. "You can stop babysittin 'em."

"I wouldn't put it in such a way, it's not babysitting," Munakata sighed, turning back towards the pool. Perhaps Mikoto did have a point though, there was no concrete reason for checking in on them, but well...maybe Munakata just favored them, two souls which he greatly respected, and would be honored to see again. Nothing wrong with it. Also, it was no lie that Munakata had caught Mikoto staring into the pool from time to time as well, smiling at the progress of the two Returners. But, Munakata was not one to point fingers in retaliation. At least, not at that particular moment. "What's got you in a mood?"

A grunt was his reply, and Munakata nodded. "Ah, you know, you can spend as much time with him as you please, Totsu--"

"I know Munakata," Mikoto rolled his eyes, slouching further into his seat. "We got stuff to do though, always..."

_Ah, well that is true._

Their jobs of sorting, of dealing with late arrivals, it never ended. Though heaven was Mikoto's domain, he would never be able to be there permanently, with the one he loved, until he and Munakata were relieved from their duties, and allowed to retire to the sanctuary. Time was strange for them, it passed quickly and yet not at all, the centuries bleeding together as they watched the world develop. Perhaps Munakata was a bit envious too, of Yata and Fushimi, for getting to live their lives freely in a way Munakata could not.

However, such thoughts were unbecoming. One day he would get his freedom, and hopefully when he did, he would be satisfied with the work he'd left behind, and those chosen to take his place. Speaking of...

"When's our time up eh? I never remember," Mikoto mumbled from his seat, staring at the baroque ceiling above, the bell of a late arrival reminding them both of the tasks which still needed attending. Oh well, this was Munakata's job anyways.

As he grabbed his cane and made for the door which would lead him to Isana's post, he dipped his hand in the pool, leaving Mikoto with the image of Yata and Fushimi, sleeping soundly in the life they'd created together.

Mikoto peered at the scene with fondness, before dipping his hand in, watching it vanish, and there was a finality in the movement which made Munakata regret not appreciating the scene more. He supposed it was fine though, he would see them both again, in time.

As he made way for the exit, a cunning smile formed easily on his face, his reply easy and certain. "Oh…seventy years or so. That sounds about right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thanks to everyone who read this fic and followed it for this long. It means a lot to me, this idea is my favorite out of all the fics I've written, and I've had it planned out for idek how long. I can't believe it's over, but it's amazing how lengthy in word count this ended up being, and how many positive responses I've gotten for the last two chapters. I'm really so thankful for my readers and people who gave reading this fic a chance even though it's a bit stranger than most AUs heh. I sincerely hoped you all enjoyed it <3
> 
> Also, because some people asked about the backgrounds of Mikoto and Munakata as well as the other deities, I decided to make a [ little backstories ](http://its-love-u-asshole.tumblr.com/private/160841884024/tumblr_oq7jqvOITn1v22bpo)  
> post for them! Because yeah, there is more to this verse than just sarumi's story, but it wasn't relevant to this story so they didn't come up. But believe me, I had all these in mind when I was writing/planning the fic, because I can't resist my own world building LOL So if you're interested, please enjoy! 
> 
> And once again, the 8tracks, which should now flow more completely now that the fic is over lol! [ Playlist ](https://8tracks.com/xladysaya/shaking-in-my-skull)  
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole  
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole

**Author's Note:**

> So yeahhh, originally I wasn't going to make this a multi chapter....but I think it will be (more like it might have to be lol). But please, let me know your thoughts and whether or not you'd like to see more! Thanks for reading <3 
> 
> Twitter: itsloveuasshole  
> Tumblr: its-love-u-asshole


End file.
